Dead from the Beginning
by DemonTsunami
Summary: Season One, Fangtasia, Sookie's first meeting with Eric. When the Viking on the throne catches Sookie's eye, she never realized he'd soon catch her heart. Of course, she never knew Bill was planning on kidnapping her either...
1. Chapter 1

**Dead from the Beginning**

**By: Demon Tsunami**

**A/N:** A take on how Sookie and Eric's first meeting SHOULD have gone, and the story from there. This was actually my first attempt at True Blood fan fiction, I just re-read it and decided to continue working on it, so here goes…

**Chapter One:** I Survived Fangtasia and All I Got Was this Lousy T-Shirt…

You know a guy with a throne is trouble. No guy, sitting on a throne, in a dark, seedy club, fingers stapled like an old world monarch, blue eyes burning in the shadows, is looking for that hand holding puppy love, or even a sordid romance under the stars. No, judging by the feral tilt to his lips, the aristocratic boredom shimmering about him, he's the rough, shove you into a dark corner and plunder type, complete with the standard fuck um and forget um routine. Trouble. With a capital T.

Gran always said trouble was a tricky companion; it keeps you on your toes, only to drop you on your ass. Fun as all get out, but in the end, unsatisfying. It leaves a girl hanging, crying into their stuffed animals, achy for that cheap thrill, too addicted to know it's truly over, but still together enough to know it's all gone to hell in a hand basket. I've seen enough minds to know the type, vampire or not, they might be gorgeous and exhilaratingly off limits, tempting as the devil in a Sunday hat, but those limits are there for a reason, Bill might not be my white knight, more like a dark knight with serious communication issues, but this guy, he's no knight at all, he's the dragon, all fire and brimstone, the type that would as soon kill me as kiss me. Good thing I'm not into that whole damsel in distress routine, my options simply aren't that promising if I was.

"So you've noticed him," Bill's got that rough, gravel on velvet voice, makes a girl perk up, pay attention. Still, I'm blinking dazedly as I turn, pink in the cheeks, like a school girl caught with her makeup compact in class, doing something she shouldn't. Only, I was _just_ looking, a girl's got the right to have eyes, doesn't she?

"No," I deny, perhaps a bit defensively, "I mean, well, yes." My blonde hair shakes about my shoulders as I puzzle over the looming presence to our right. "Not like _that_," I insist at Bill's skeptical, disgruntled expression, "I mean, well, he's on a _throne_ for Lord's sake!" I shake my head in pure, honky girl disbelief, in Bon Temps the closest we get to _thrones_ is going to church on Sundays, and that's the Lord's throne, and he ain't exactly there sitting on it, at least, not visibly.

"That's Eric," Bill replies, there's a note of tension in his guttural voice; it sends his usually musical tone into a sulky, teenage growl.

"Mmmmhmmm," I press my lips to my straw and suck in a nice drink of a _way_ overpriced gin and tonic. Noncommittal is best. Vampires have good hearing and short tempers, I won't flat out say that the broody megalomaniac in the corner is as pretentious as Arlene's red hair, but I sure as hell think it. Besides, it's hard to speak coherently when every five seconds you're picking up every pathetic pleather clad fanger's fantasies, from the standard romp and bite to things my Gran would take a belt to me for even repeating. I shudder as a brunette with a serious pain fetish brushes by, her mind swimming with recollections of her more _fruitful_ evenings. My gin and tonic is starting to taste sour and I'm aching for a nice cup of tea with Gran and the feel of my own bed. First things first, though, and I remind myself sternly that this is for Jason, the poor boy doesn't deserve a cell, and he won't last long in one, that's for certain.

"So he's what, like a lord or something?" I cock my head at my tall, dark and handsome escort, Bill tries my temper something bad on occasion, but I think deep down, he's the type of man Gran always hoped I'd find, fangs or not. A southern gentleman, that mythical 'good man' I always hear about, and what's better, I don't have to hear his every thought, I can just stare into his blue eyes and pretend for one solid moment that I'm normal, and God that's nice. Relaxing even.

Bill snorts, and I don't appreciate his derisive look, until I realize it's not for me, but the subject of our conversation, "He's Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area Five," he reports with grudging respect, _very_ grudging. His sour lip curl makes him look like a sulking boy, adorable, but sort of petulant.

"Sheriff?" Suddenly I'm getting flashbacks of Walker Texas Ranger and trying to make it fit with the sharp, dangerous looking man on that red velvet floor. Not happening. My blank look clues Bill in.

_Please let him___**see**_ me, let him _**like**_ me, please, please, please…._

The desperate mental plea drowns out Bill's stiff warning as to the state of this Eric's character, that is to say, warning me off of his depravity in his husky southern twang, too bad I don't hear a word of it. Distracted, I turn, as if entranced, to watch a slender, bleach blonde in pointy black stilettos wavering at the precipice of the 'throne area', I will not call some showpiece of vampire theatrics a _dais_ it's just too darn weird, even for me. She's chewing her lip like a stick of bubble gum, and her thoughts are like soap bubbles, pretty, but vapid.

_Alls I want is _one_ chance, Lord; Tess got him to say yes and if I don't I'll never, EVER live it down…_

Desperation. It's scary how easy it is to see on her, especially since any self respecting girl shouldn't be broadcasting something like _that_ in a bar like _this_, but it's etched too clearly on her tanned face, dripping from her Hot Topic discount clothes, the spiked collar, the too short plaid skirt, even the fishnets, they all scream her mental pleas, but it's her eyes that really get me. Like two flat, empty pools, lined in too much black shadow and eyeliner, hallow, like the bubbles of her thoughts. I can't help but feel sorry for her.

"Sookie," it's that _way_ he says it, all smoky fire, like a prayer from the devil, "Are you listening?" I snap back to Bill, and his gruff, unsettled look, sometimes I listen _too_ well, I almost snap, but a lifetime of telepathy has taught me to be accepting of the fact that people just plain don't _get_ me. Or my disability. In here, for me, it's like twenty radio stations playing at once, I don't _mean_ to get distracted, but there's only so much you can keep on the back burner. Honestly.

As always, when flustered, my knee-jerk honesty spills out, "That girl right there," I whisper, leaning in real close and slightly jerking my head at the blonde hovering at the crowd's edge, "she's thinking about going up there and…" my face scrunches, "_begging_ for his…" another uncomfortable pause as I fumble for polite terms, "attention. Is that normal?" I ask the last part in pure disbelief. Oh Sookie, you so aren't in Bon Temps anymore.

"Yes," Bill discomfort matches mine, "Many women here, and men," he adds with a small frown, "seek Eric's company, he's quite sought after, for his looks, and power." Bill's expectant look rankles every inch of pure southern girl in me. I am _not_ like _them_. The nonverbal insinuation is plain rude.

"Well," I sip my drink with narrow eyes as the petite blonde finally musters up enough bravado to step forward, drawing the eyes of Eric and half of the clubs patrons in the process, "Sounds like he's the man to question." Bill's look is nearly priceless, and reflects my own doubts.

Not that I'm exactly keen on it, but still, people with power know things, and I'm here for Jason, not Bill, so he can keep that skeptical look all he damn well likes. I am _not_ interested in _Eric_. Heck, I'm not even sure at the moment if I'm interested in Bill, what with his whole 'Sookie is mine' thing, it screams possessive and not in a good way. For example, I know he thinks this is a date, and now he's getting all cave man on me at the idea of talking to another vampire just because he's somewhat attractive (I suppose) in that whole bad boy way. As if I want anything to do with a man who owns a bar named Fangtasia, and sits on a throne like some self proclaimed demi-god, can you say ego issues?

"Sookie," Bill's hand on mine is cool, showing he hasn't fed. I glance up, intrigued by the warning in his slightly pained tone, I'd been gathering my things without thought, figuring we'd ask this Eric a few questions and get the heck out of Vampire-Ville. His look seemed to imply I was missing something, or perhaps he didn't get my logic as to why I thought asking this Eric was a good idea. Just then, the girl I'd been half listening to since I first spotted her, chose that moment to, honest to God, _bow_ before the vampire's throne like some reject actress from a B-rated horror movie, at this, my jaw drops of its own accord, Gran calls that sort of knee jerk aplomb, plain ol' dumb struck. I feel sick, but only because I can sense the now kneeling girl's own nervous nausea at what she is currently doing. It's matched by her tingling excitement.

"Rise," Oh Lordy, he _speaks_. Every inch entitled, every syllable derisive, commanding. My eyebrow arches of its own accord, who died and made him king? Oh, right…._He _did. Now I know how Dorothy felt, this is so not Kansas anymore. Blondie scrambles up like a kid waiting to sit on Santa's lap, eyes like Christmas, smile like a hundred watt bulb.

Eric tilts his head, a sarcastic smirk on his lips, it's the first time I get a proper look at him, and damn it, he's drop dead gorgeous, just like I thought, but dangerous, definitely dangerous. My lips pucker. Every instinct in me is saying 'Oh _hell_ no Sookie, don't you _dare_.' The voice sounds suspiciously like Tara's. I think it's probably very smart advice. Too bad sometimes smart and brave contradict one another.

"C-c-can I please, um…" She bats her mascara laden eyelashes, "I'd like to offer myself…um…to you." His nostrils flare; his cold, cobalt blue eyes suddenly seem wickedly amused.

"Do you now?" My lips thin further, he's drawing it out, on purpose, and anyone with eyes can see he's got no intention of taking her seriously. That's just…well, it's just rude. My hands find my hips of their own indignant accord.

"Oh Lordy," I mutter beneath my breath in disgust.

Her head bobs like one of those plastic figurines people get for their dashboards, "Please, yes, please." Too many 'pleases', even for me. Bill is scowling now, obviously upset at what I'm being 'subjected' to.

As if I haven't seen worse, this is pretty bad, but getting beat to death and finding Dawn dead in her own bed definitely takes the cake on the weird shit I've been privy to of late, and I'm not exactly a stranger to things like humiliation and crazy fetishes, being a telepath and all I see a lot similar stuff in a person's head. Usually it's just not so public. In fact, this has sort of got the feel of a train wreck to it, where you know everything's gonna get real messy, horrible even, but you still can't look away, even with my head filling up with disgust, my eyes can't seem to go anyplace else.

"Come," he quirks his finger, indicating she join him up on his elevated throne. I snort. It's so ridiculous it's, well…ridiculous. No other word for it. His eyes are like winter, frozen, empty, as they flash to mine, so briefly I begin panicking that I imagined it, or perhaps the panic is because I know I didn't. Bill's possessive hand on my wrist confirms it. Is this little power display for _me_?

Ridiculous… I don't even know why I just thought that.

She steps into his grasp, dazed, blissful, her mind a torrent of self congratulation and giddy delight, I wince, because she doesn't even see his gaze. Dark, predatory, the look of a lion towards a gazelle, not a man to a woman. Food. She's just food to him. Suddenly I realize what Bill's been trying to subtly convey, to them, we're not much more that a walking, breathing, happy meal. I mean, I don't exactly eye down M&M's like that, but still, the analogy is there, and suddenly I feel the weight of my own ignorance, it's heavy, and thick. My eyes flash to Bill's, seeking comfort I suppose; this is so alien to everything I know, to everything I believe. His eyes are on the blonde, though, and while his mouth is pursed in disgust like mine, his eyes are…well, hungry and fearful all at once. Anticipation wars with self hatred. I shiver.

"Sit," Eric gestures to his lap regally, wicked derision playing on his lips and eyes, she doesn't notice, like a marionette with her strings cut she practically falls on him, like lightning his hand reaches out, stopping her from toppling off him, her mind is sort of cotton-like, and I get the feeling he's glamoured her. Not that she needed it, she was more than willing, and even half lucid she'd mentally purring like a kitten with a bowl of cream, enjoying his meanness, his utter lack of civility, this isn't a southern lady, that's for sure. He smirks, perhaps because he knows every last eye is on him, or maybe it's because he's petting her like most people do a small dog, smoothing away her crisp, bottle blonde hair, revealing her tan, slender jugular. Oh crap, he's going to do _that_, _here?_ I can't help but glance at Bill in shock, the dark look he sends seems to say '_this_ is what happens here,' and I swallow, hard.

"Still think this is Disney Land?" he asks me rather snidely. I give him a look that Gran gives me when I'm mouthy and obstinate, don't you dare go there Bill Compton.

Not finding any reassurance in Bill's vaguely sickened, but mostly tense profile, my eyes wander back to the 'show', and boy do I wish they hadn't. It was like he was waiting for it, for me to look, as preposterous as it sounds, of all the people here, in their black leather and heavy makeup, some of them even vampires, the decision holds some sort of significance I can't decipher, that he would chose me as the one to toy with, to play this sick game that I don't know the rules to. At that instant, his pristine white fangs slip down, and those cold, winter morning eyes meet mine, a cold, icy smirk tilting those full lips, and I feel that chill, that dead cold shiver in my chest, right before our gazes break like spun sugar, and with a feral snarl that runs my blood hot and cold, his head dips like a whip, and his sharp, razor teeth pierce the poor girl's exposed neck.

I wasn't expecting so much blood, rusty rivulets running down gold skin, seeping through his sucking lips, suddenly I see way too much resemblance between the now squirming girl and myself, it haunts me, disturbs me on every level, tear away all that black, throw on a sun dress, and I'm looking at a near perfect reflection. Or so it seems, in that one, frantic, twisted second, and then her emotions hit me, like a semi truck on a freeway, nearly knocking me from my seat. Holy cow she _likes_ it.

"Excuse me." It's my frantic plea as I dash the girl's room. Blood I can handle. Creepy vampires I can deal with. But a mental assault like _that_ in a place where the undead residents could possibly (ew) _smell_ the _very_ unintentional effect my accidental eavesdropping has had on my wonky libido, I need to escape, NOW. Bill tries to protest, but like Jason says, I'm as stubborn as a mule when need be, I shake him off with a look that says he can shove his concerns up his nicely shaped petunia. My feet don't take me fast enough, and with jittery arms I slam open the restroom doors and practically flee into the stall.

"Oh lord, oh lord," that's my processing chant, muttered into my hands as I try and calm my breathing and other, not so pleasant reactions. My murmured half prayer is quickly followed by self criticism, "Sookie Stackhouse, you are in way over your head." I half groan. Someone needs to say it, and since Tara and Sam aren't here it might as well be me. Doesn't make me feel any less like a guppy in a shark tank, but heck, it does seem to snap me out of it, and with a sudden burst of self confidence I realize hiding in a bathroom won't fix anything, and secondly, I've got _nothing_ to be ashamed of, that was _her_ choice, her thoughts, not mine. I'm better than that. I don't have to explain myself to these people, _let_ them judge, it's like Gran's in my head, coaching me to put my chin up and be the smart, confident girl she raised.

"Well, well," I recognize that soft drawl, the female sizing up, although the unexpected voice makes me jump slightly. The brunette vampire is reapplying another coat of ruby red to her lips, eyeing me curiously through the large bathroom mirror. I stare at Pam, the one with the mental vault, and suddenly all my fear, strangely, vanishes. Sure, she's a vampire, and yes, she doesn't seem exactly like the friendly sort, but my reaction is still to breathe a sigh of relief, for some reason, I feel like I can handle Pam. The action doesn't escape the vault, I'm sure.

"Hi," I go for perky, but since I'm still a bit shaken I end up somewhere around heavily medicated. Her mouth twists wryly.

"See anything you liked?" She's taunting me, I can tell. My shoulders square, and with determined motions I join her at the mirrors, fluffing my hair and eyeing my light makeup. She glances at me from her peripheral, amused I think.

"Not really," I admit, earning a raised eyebrow.

"I see what he means," she says cryptically, suddenly a magnetic smile lights up her features, transforming her from sullen and cynic to bright and vividly energetic. It's the same tactic Arlene uses when she needs a sitter for the night, all warm and sweet but undoubtedly nursing some hidden agenda. Suddenly I miss Bill. He's confusing, but he's the sort of confusing I've come to understand, if that makes any sense.

"Well, see you around." I make a beeline for the door.

"The boys are busy," she comments dryly as I go to leave, an indulgent smirk aimed at me through the reflected glass, "let's give them a minute." That sounds ominous.

"Busy?"

"Your boyfriend didn't like Eric's display, and well, Eric doesn't like being challenged," her words carry a vindictive sort of satisfaction. Seeing my expression she pats my arm, "Don't worry, they'll play nice, he didn't challenge him openly, even Compton's not _that_ stupid." She smirks wistfully, as if she wishes it wasn't so.

"Challenge?" At my softly voiced question her eyes take on that sharp look, the one she had at the front door.

"You really are out of your element, aren't you?" she observes, and not very kindly either. "Your master should keep you better informed; poking that sweet button nose into vampire affairs isn't very smart, little girl." My hand starts to go for my 'button' nose defensively before I think better of it and scowl, letting my arm drop halfway.

"Yeah, well, I've got a reputation for being not very smart," I report matter-of-factly, earning an amused look, and as if to prove it, I add, "And Bill is _so_ not my master."

"Oh?" now I have her full attention. Before, she _appeared_ to be attentive, but that was all for show, now she's _really_ looking at me, judging, evaluating. As Jason would say, well shit.

"Well, he did that whole 'mine' thing at his house," I edge out slowly, suddenly nervous, not exactly scared, just a bit wary, "but that was because he had guests, and they didn't exactly take no thank you for an answer."

"I bet not," she responds dryly, peering at me in earnest. She reaches out and brushes my hair from my shoulder, pushing it away from my neck and arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow at my unblemished skin. I don't take kindly to anyone touching me so familiar like, not without my say so, and defiantly shake my hair back over my neck. What is it about being dead that makes vampires think they're immune to social protocol? Or did most of them always have bad manners? Gran would be so appalled.

"I haven't been bit," I inform her, my voice suddenly devoid of all humor. She nods. Maybe its years of being a telepath that let me see it, when others might have merely brushed it off, but she cocks her head, eyes going blank, and I _know_ she's suddenly not completely with me. Physically she hasn't budged a bit, but there's distance in her eyes, like static, and I have a nearly positive feeling she's somewhere entirely else mentally. She blinks, and the look is gone, making me curious, I suppose people feel the same when they see me space out, only the people that catch on to it with me are usually a lot more freaked out then I'd ever let on. Pot calling the kettle black and all that.

She smiles a slow, sweet as molasses smile, "They boys are finished, come on," she holds out her hand, a challenge in her stare as she does so, as if she expects me to decline, or as if she thinks I'll be scared to take it, little does she know I resent the implication that I'm being chicken. Or that I should be. I take it, despite the fact that Pam simply doesn't seem like the hand holding type, she tosses me a smirk before nearly dragging me from the room. I follow, curious, worried, suspicious, miffed, impatient, the emotions run through me quicker than ice tea on a hot summer day. We reach a back room, it looks a bit like an office, and Pam knocks, her knuckles rapping on the wood in an almost militant fashion.

"Enter," that same arrogant, dark as tar voice suggests, and the vampire holding my hand drops it without thought, pushing open the door with her long manicured nails, painted the color of blood, naturally. She sashays in, like a cat, and hovers by the exit, the strategic placement doesn't escape my notice, too many days around death will do that to a girl.

I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of Bill, unharmed, sitting in front of a large desk with a bottle of True Blood in his hand, his left leg kicked up to rest on his knee. Casual almost, save for the tension around his eyes, I march right up to him, purposefully ignoring Eric, and try to suss out how bad this is, if it's bad at all. He doesn't give anything away; in fact, he looks at me with something akin to fear, I never thought I'd scare a vampire, never wanted to try, but somehow I very much doubt he's scared _of_ me, more like _for_ me. Great, just perfect.

"What's going on?" I don't know who looks more surprised at my demand, Bill or Pam, but Eric manages his indifference well, his hooded eyes boring into me from across two feet of wood and floor. I ignore him, it seems to be working so far, and if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Stupid megalomaniac vampire.

"Mr. Northman has requested," Bill begins, and the last word sounds especially bitter, "that we spend the night in Shreveport," at my not so pleased look, he hastens to add, "It is his right, as Sheriff, to request up to one night of our time, your questions have breached a sort of protocol." Huh, and here I thought them being immune to _our_ social standards meant it was a two way street, color me naïve.

"I'm not leaving Gran to worry all night, and what am I supposed to say?" I demand in a huff, irked, this is _his_ thing, he should've thought of this, even if I happened to be the one to drag him down here despite his warnings. Irrational I may be, but still. A night in this place? I'd rather sleep in a cemetery; at least the décor there is better, more authentic, heck, I even reckon it's safer there too.

"Do you always allow her to speak to you this way?" comes the mildly amused enquiry. That's it. No more Ms. Nice Girl. My glare finds Mr. Northman, owner of the throne of theatrical pretention, and I let him have it like I let Jason have it during those times when he's gone and opened his mouth and let out a whole slew of stupid. Which unfortunately for him, is too often.

"Nobody _allows_ me anything, Mr. Northman," I begin, hands on the hips, further incensed by his now openly amused expression, I ignore Bill's now openly anxious one, "Look, as far as I'm concerned, I don't fall under vampire protocol, if I was asking questions and they were unwelcome, and you'd warned me, that's one thing, but saying I have to spend the night _here_," his farce of a pleasant smile falters a bit at my disgust, "is just plain rude. Bill maybe well educated on this whole thing, but I never signed any fidelity agreement to a Sheriff of Louisiana-"

"Sookie!" Bill cautions eyes wide at my daring.

"AND I wouldn't, if given the chance," I add, ignoring Bill, probably not the wisest idea, but anger makes me rash.

"Miss Stackhouse," his voice is like a cool spring breeze, light and filled with wonder, probably sarcastic wonder, knowing what little I do of him it's hard to tell, his blue eyes give nothing away, "Bill Compton has relayed to me that you are his," I shift uncomfortably, not _exactly_… "and as such, you fall under _my_ jurisdiction."

"Well, Bill was mistaken," I retort, at his arched eyebrows I add quickly, "I'm my _own_ Mr. Northman, slavery has been illegal for quite some time now." He lets out a barked laugh,

"She's charming," he directs this at Pam.

"Reminds me of someone," Pam replies cryptically, raising her eyebrows as a small smirk passes between maker and child. While they exchange their subtle commentary, Bill chooses that precise moment to ensnare my arm, a look of near terror on his pale as ivory southern features.

"Sookie," he begins in that way only Bill can say my name, like a half curse, half prayer, "you must tell them you are mine." I do believe the look I bestow upon him conveys my utter dislike of that particular idea, but just in case there's leeway for nonverbal insinuation, I spell it out for him too.

"Look, I appreciate what you did for me," as in, kept his three fang buddies from draining me the second I stepped foot into his home, "but I got to be honest, this vampire stuff is like speaking French to a China man, and _excuse_ me Bill Compton if I maybe want to get a better feel for this situation before I go ahead start declaring I belong to _anybody_." I cross my arms, giving him the stink eye.

"You don't trust me?" He looks taken aback, sad even. I want to brush his black hair from his forehead and soothe him, because for that one moment he looks like a forlorn little boy who's had his candy taken away, but we're surrounded by questionable vampires, in a club that frankly gives me the heebie-jeebies, and so soothing his ego will have to wait. Besides, if I have trust issues it's because he's been less than forthcoming, last night was a wakeup call for me, and I won't be getting over those three 'guests' of his anytime soon.

"Right now," I say instead, "I don't exactly trust anyone, no offense." People are going dead in Bon Temps of all places, drainers tried to beat me to death, I just recently found out I can't hear vampire thoughts, and my brother is likely the only suspect in a double homicide, so forgive me if I'm a bit leery, it's a lot to process. A couple weeks ago my biggest worry was whether or not Gran and I would get the house painted before winter, now I'm going to vampire bars and investigating murders, it's a bit of an adjustment, and I personally think I'm handling it quite well, all things considered.

"Smart girl," Pam approves. Bill gives her a look that could cut steel.

"I'd like a moment with Miss Stackhouse," Eric announces, drawing all pairs of eyes to his smirking, half leaning form behind the desk. "Alone." His fingers are stapled behind his head, light blue eyes thoughtful, but sharp.

"Where Sookie goes, I go," Bill declares in a half growl, earning my reluctant gratitude. Playing Nancy Drew is one thing, being along with this Mr. Northman is quite another.

"Awe, how sweet," Pam mocks in a caustic twang, smirking in condescension at the two of us.

"Oh really?" There's a weight to this question, an edge to it in Eric's eyes and tone. Undeterred, Bill meets his sardonic, piercing stare with his own stubborn tenacity, his hand possessively holding mine. Right about now, that weight is comforting, solid, slightly cool, his fingers interlace with my smaller ones, his thumb brushing my knuckles. Eric's magnetic eyes trail to the connection, and the coldness I saw in him earlier floods his profile, making him harder, meaner. I get the feeling Mr. Broody doesn't like seeing signs of affection between Vampires and humans that doesn't involve opening up a vein, well, tough fritters.

"I owe her my life," the black haired vampire emphasizes in a deep growl. Blonde eyebrows slash upward; even I can smell the tension leaking through the suddenly cramped feeling office. In Bon Temps we call this a male pissing contest, I'm sure vampires have a more clever term, but it's still the effects of testosterone cutting off oxygen to the brain, stupid male dominance.

"And if she occupies the basement, you will join her?" Eric sounds amused, like he's privately enjoying an inward joke. Bill's face, a color usually akin to fresh parchment, drains further, going egg shell white, and he looks like a kid suddenly caught wrist deep in the cookie jar. Pam's laugh, sharp and at Bill's expense, fills the room.

"The Queen-" Compton begins gruffly.

"Has appointed _me_ Sheriff," Eric concludes, looking smug, relaxed, as Bill grows more and more agitated, you can see it the most clearly in Bill's eyes, where the corners crinkle and freeze, and around his mouth, where his lips are about as thin as a sheet of paper. "You knew that you were expected to inform me of your arrival in my territory," Eric continues, blasé, kicking his feet up on his desk nonchalantly, "and yet you didn't. You were more than aware that you needed my permission before coming into _my_ bar, and yet there you were, escorting your little blood bag, letting her get mouthy with Longshadow." Blood bag, lovely, I think I'm liking him more and more….not.

"I begged Bill to come," I interject, heated at the way this man speaks to Bill, like someone would talk to a disobedient dog, or a small child. His glare nearly immobilizes me, but I continue, reckless and determined. "I asked the questions."

The grip on my hand is suddenly painful, as Bill's features go from tense to nearly seizure-like. But it's the eyes boring into me from across the desk that cause me to swallow hard, there's something in his stare, something deeper and more animalistic than can be found in Bill's eyes, something raw and feral, waiting to get out, biding its time before it strikes.

"Miss Stackhouse," he says my name like he's tasting it, rolling it around for a moment on his tongue, "If there was anything you wanted to ask, you should have come to me directly." His eyes are inviting, but it's not just simple conversation that he's discussing, even I can sense that.

I snort my disbelief, earning another bone crushing hand squeeze, "I apologize, Mr. Northman-"

"Eric," he corrects matter-of-factly, eyes glittering as he watches me with unabashed interest. I'm all too uncomfortably reminded of the gothic girl this evening, wondering uneasily if my approaching him would have resulted in the same end result, at the idea, my nose scrunches in distaste. I am _not_ a walking happy meal!

"Eric," I purposefully spit his name, Jason says 'vampires' the same way, I note distractedly, "I'm sorry for my intrusion, but I had no intention of making my questions public," He tilts his head, obviously intent on waiting me out, eyes roving the room as if to imply this is hardly public now. I sigh, plucking the two Polaroid's from my purse and shoving them in front of his now perfectly composed features.

"Maudette Pickens and my friend Dawn," my sundress is pulled tight as I lean over his large (ostentatious) desk to put them in his direct line of sight, "They were killed in Bon Temps."

"Is that really a town?" Pam comments incredulously from behind, I ignore her. She seems to really thrive off of pushing people's buttons.

"You think a vampire did this," it's not a question, more like a carefully worded threat. His voice is like silk wrapped steel, devoid of the pleasant southern twang of Bill's husky timber, it's too cold, just like his eyes.

"No," perhaps I like correcting him a little too much, arrogant prick. "Bill says a vampire wouldn't have left the blood in the bodies, these woman were strangled Mr. Northman, not drained."

"And as the only vampire suspect in Bon Temps, you of course, believe his word unconditionally," Eric taunts with a wry smirk. I huff. "And its Eric," he adds lightly, his lips tilting upward. I roll my eyes, and here I thought Sam tried my last nerve, he's got nothing on Eric Northman.

"I believe a vampire would've made it look like an accident, not just left them there for God and everyone to find," even Bill looks slightly shocked at this, as if I shouldn't know that much, as if they don't make it so freaking obvious. Wasn't I the one who mentioned that tornados _jump_? Come on, the hair color might be natural, but this is one Podunk hick who can add two and two together.

"Do you?" Eric's voice is eerily quiet, a cold tone, thoughtful, but not at all reassuring.

"Sookie has a rather vivid imagination," Bill begins, and I only stop myself from rolling my eyes because Pam does it for me.

"Not as stupid as she looks," the brunette vampire murmurs, ending Bill's ridiculous attempt at misdirection.

"Miss Stackhouse, you've amused me," why does he sound like I should be jumping up and down for joy because I got him to crack a smile? Vampires. I frown as I stop leaning, he's still not answering my questions. "And after a few millennia, that is no easy task. However, your escort isn't nearly as entertaining, and _he_ is the one who knowingly broke our protocol. So you see, on top of being genuinely dull, he is in a great deal of trouble over you." My eyes meet Bill's, seeking solace, forgiveness.

"You, however, are free to go," he adds, waving at me like one swats off a nat.

"B-but," I sputter.

"Yes?" He drawls, arching an eyebrow.

"Sookie," Bill warns, his eyes burning murderously at Eric in unspoken accusation. I square my shoulders and make one of those split second decisions I'm known for when my friends are in deep water without a paddle and I'm capable of jumping in to the rescue. Tara says that analogy makes me the human life raft, and warns that one day someone's going to pull me down _with_ them. It's a fair assessment.

"I think I will talk to Mr. Northman privately after all," so proud of my own daring, I miss the smug, triumphant looks Eric and Pam exchange at my back. You can take the girl from the small town, but you can't take the small town out of the girl and all that. I'm not nearly well versed enough in subterfuge and hidden agendas.

"Sookie!" Bill has abandoned silent panic, and gone to verbally being appalled; reaching out as if to shake me and possibly rouse some sense in my head, but it's too late, Pamela is only too happy to stand between the dark haired vampire and myself, her glittering brown eyes as sharp and predatory as a hawk's.

"Jealous looks good on you," she comments dryly, crossing her arms over her red dress suite and mocking him with a smirk. The hawk that's finally caught the mouse.

"Move," Bill snarls, standing, his bottle of True Blood long forgotten.

"Pam, are you going to let him talk to you like that?" Eric feigns being aghast, the sarcastic bastard. Pamela throws him a look over her shoulder.

"You play nice with your little appetizer, and I'll handle reminding our _guest_ of his manners," she suggests with a single arched brow, "unless, of course, you'd like to trade." Her eyes rove my entire body suggestively, from the low cut of my sundress to the straps of my sandals; her catty playfulness earns her a smirk from Eric. Bill looks ready to dive through her, but his eyes keep flickering to Eric fearfully.

"I'll be okay," I reassure him.

"No, Sookie, you will not," Bill insists in that husky drawl, not at all happy, but somehow sexier for it. In fact, worry is now etched onto every faucet of his face, and it's a bit nice to know that's all for little old me. It helps me send him a nice big grin, complete with sparkling eyes.

"We're just going to talk," I insist back, "Right, _Eric_?" I shoot him a look, hands on my hips, a warning in my eyes.

"Of course, Miss Stackhouse," his lips twitched in a repressed smirk, he's anything but reassuring, serves me right for asking his input I suppose. In fact, he looks nearly gleeful, there's wicked delight positively glowing from those engaging blue eyes, he's enjoying both Bill's desperation, and my sudden discomfort more than any decent person should. Course, I'm not certain there's anything decent about him, he's yet to show it if there is.

"Sookie, listen to me, you _must_ tell him your mine," it's a plea, and for a long moment I nearly agree because he looks so adorably forlorn, so human, so sweet, so very scared for my behalf that I nearly believe he would ask something like that just to protect me, no strings attached. Reality checks back in and I scowl, no means no. I've been the naïve little girl enough for one night, and being Bill's means I have to spend the night _here_, which is at the very bottom of my to-do list, I shake my head, mutely resolved. Whatever happens, I'm my own person, end of story.

When Pam grows bored and begins forcing a resentful Bill from the office, Eric chooses to add in that falsely innocent manner of his, "Oh Pam? Do be a dear and get the door behind you," he glances at Bill thoughtfully, "and try not to have _too_ much fun." Pam's lower lip juts out.

"You're the boss," she snaps, but anyone can tell he's just ruined her good mood. Bill looks relieved. After the door closes, those crystal blue eyes fall on me, and suddenly I'm having slight difficulty remembering how to breathe properly, and figuring that I don't have a snowballs chance in hell of overpowering him if he does try anything, I decide to sit in the seat Bill was previously in, smoothing out my skirt as I do so and avoiding those too perceptive irises.

"I'll owe her a new pair of shoes," he comments to seemingly no one unparticular, staring at the ceiling in exasperation, "she's been dying," he smirks at the word 'dying', "to teach Compton his place for a while now." It reminds me of what Bill said, how puns were the highest form of humor at one point. He sighs, looking put out, his gaze sliding to me in evaluation.

"Does she hate him?" I venture.

"No more than I do," he responds, which is really no answer at all.

"You're really used to this," I comment. Speaking before thinking will really get me in trouble one day. I sincerely hope today is not that day. He cocks his head, waiting. "The whole ordering people around thing," I gesture to his office, the grandeur of it, I might not be a brand name girl, but this stuff is nice, expensive nice, and it shows, not at all like the cheesy club décor, which I still stand by my original comment, makes the bar look like a ride at Disney Land. "Does everybody have to do what you say?" His eyes crinkle in amusement.

"No," he confesses, "but most prefer it to the alternative."

"What's the alternative?" His eyebrows wing upward at that, a reflective and somewhat vindictive look flashing across his face briefly.

"It would depend on the disagreement." He decides after a moment.

"Do you _ever_ answer a direct question?" I demand, fed up. He smirks, his feet dropping to the floor, and his tented fingers on the desk as he leans in, all done in one of those nearly too quick to see vampire movements, his form a blur before he's suddenly much closer, peering at me intently, letting me see how really gorgeous he is, and I suddenly realize something important about Eric, this man uses his beauty as a weapon. Too bad it's a pretty effective one, as weapons go.

"Only the ones I like, Miss Stackhouse," he purrs in a suggestive tone. My nose crinkles.

"What did you mean earlier, when you asked Bill if he'd go to the basement with me? What do you have in there?" I question rapid fire, down to business. He gives me a brief look of surprise before a slow, appreciative smile slides across his mouth.

"Perceptive little thing, aren't you?" He murmurs.

"Perceptive, yes, but there's nothing little about me Mr. Northman, and you didn't answer my question," I respond crisply. His lips twitch, sure signs he's repressing his urge to laugh at me, I suppose to a big vampire like him I _am_ a _bit_ little, but still.

"Bravado's sweet, but it's truly not necessary," he responds coolly, with a meaningful look he adds, "I can smell your fear."

"If I'm afraid," I tell him defensively, "It's only because I'm worried about Bill."

"Yes, about that…" He leans in slightly, eyes narrowing fractionally, "Why do I smell his blood in you, Miss Stackhouse?" I'm near certain my heart stutters, he can smell _that_? Crap and corruption.

"He had a bit of a run in with some nasty drainers outside Merlotte's," I shrug, "I ran them off, but they didn't exactly take kindly to that, so…" I bite my lip, "They sort of beat me to death. Well, nearly, I would have died if not for Bill." I sigh, "And seeing as we're talking about blood and death, and you were decent enough not to molest me the moment he left, I suppose you should call me Sookie," I offer with slight hesitation.

"Sookie," he repeats, "Interesting name." He says it in a way that suggests it's beyond interesting, more like weird. Humph.

"Eric Northman is a rather dull name for a vampire, I thought they were supposed to have mysterious names, but Bill and Eric," I add with a small frown, "Definitely not scary." Two can play at his little demeaning attitude.

"I suspect you would prefer Lestat?" He enquires in mock pleasantness. I shake my head.

"No, Eric suites you," I respond too sweetly, batting my eyes at him.

"Ms. Stackhouse, are you provoking me?" He says incredulously. I hold up my fingers and narrow the space between my forefinger and thumb to nearly infinitesimal.

"Maybe a smidge," I admit, using my hand for emphasis. For a moment he merely looks dumb struck, but then something entirely unexpected happens. Eric Northman throws back his head, revealing a thick, strong neck, and laughs, a deep, belly to throat laugh that has me cracking a smile despite myself.

"Sookie Stackhouse, you are either the dumbest human I've met, or the bravest," he half mutters, begrudgingly awed. I shrug, insults to me are just water on a duck's back, I've swam through them my whole life, and if I'd let them weigh me down, I wouldn't be sitting here right now. "What on Earth are you doing with an idiot like Bill Compton?" He cocks his head, smiling, suddenly friendly and amiable, I think I distrust his friendliness more than his cold sarcasm.

"Well, seeing as I'm dumb, maybe it's a mutual attraction of likenesses," I retort sourly. His lips are twitching again.

He tsks me through his teeth, his tone playful, "Opposites attract, Ms. Stackhouse, not likenesses." He gives me a heated look with one eyebrow arched, all blonde, dark, and devious, with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, golly miss molly, and I thought Bill was too sexy for words; this man is practically oozing sensual charm. My lips purse in disapproval as I realize I was just openly ogling him, damn, score one for the vampire I suppose. He laughs.

"You're delightfully expressive," he comments.

"And you're purposefully cryptic," is my sighed reply. "Are you planning to keep me here all night by talking in circles, or is there any chance I can get you to let Bill go?" Suddenly his friendly look vanishes, like someone wiped it from his face, and I tense.

"Mr. Compton is capable of taking care of himself," he points out sternly, like an adult lecturing a deviant child on what's what. I tilt my chin up a notch.

"Be that as it may, Mr. Northman, I'm not one to let my friends suffer on my behalf," I reply in a equally stern manner, "Bill's in trouble because of me, and you might not understand it, but I can't just go home and sleep knowing he's here having…well, God knows what, done to him because I thought going to a vampire bar and asking some intrusive questions was a good idea." I hold out my hands in a helpless gesture.

"How…noble," the voice is behind me, liquid poison in my ear. Shit. I hate vampire tricks. His large, and yes, they're very large, hands nearly envelope the entire expanse of my shoulders, and neck, holy cow how did I not notice how _big_ he was? His touch, unlike Bill's cool one, is slightly warm, the effects of his very recent feeding I'm sure, no store bought blood for Eric Northman… Something about that finally pierces my head, in the form of a giant DUH sign. This isn't Bill Compton, mainstreaming vampire trying to blend in, this is a strange vampire, who obviously has no qualms about feeding directly from the tap so to speak, and as soon as that settles in, I realize his large, slightly warm hands have been gently kneading my shoulders, relaxing me, but also pushing my hair from my neck.

"You better not bite me," I hiss through my teeth, appalled as I struggle to turn and face my would-be attacker.

"Mmmmhmmm," he murmurs in a way that clearly shows he's ignoring me; his eyes are on my neck.

"I mean it!" I spin, giving him the glare of my life, fully outraged, my heart going a mile a minute at the thought that there's very little I can do to stop him. His cool eyes bore into me impassively, the pressure of his hands on me ensure that I can only turn my head, and not my body, one of his fingers slip experimentally under the strap of my dress, a smirk toys at his lips.

"You will remove your hands from me, now," I growl through clenched teeth. His eyebrows arch.

"Feisty," he chuckles, "I wager Bill allowed such things." His expression suggests he's not so generous.

"I might not have vampire strength," I begin in a slightly anxious tone, "but I sure as hell can scream, Mr. Northman, and if you don't take your hands off me this minute, I'll show you just how loud." Jason used to say I sound like a banshee with a megaphone.

"Be my guest," his smirk deepens, eyeing our surroundings with near boredom, "soundproof rooms, Miss Stackhouse; you didn't think I asked Pam to close the door out of politeness, did you?" He's clearly mocking me, and as he grins, his fangs spring free. I meet his eyes, because for some reason, it's near impossible not to, with his pale complexion, framed by that long pale blonde hair, those two blue orbs seem nearly luminescent.

"Stop talking," I open my mouth to tell him to go to hell, but he continues without pause, "You will stand up, Sookie," his blue eyes seem so blue, like sapphires, and I feel a little tingle at the base of my spine, "put your hands on that wall," he eyes the wall next to his desk with a smirk, "and _beg_ me to fuck you." He waits ever so briefly as I try and form a coherent sentence out of my bubbling rage and disbelief; I've got more meanness in me than a poked bear by this point. "Now." He adds, impatient. Suddenly it dawns on me.

"That won't work," now it's _my_ turn to be smug, I cross my arms and smile up at him coyly. He blinks, frowns, and then disappears. I blink, trying to find out how something as big as him just vanishes.

"On your hands and knees," he hisses, suddenly inches from my face, blue eyes pouring into mine aggressively, bleeding dominance, "Naked, _now_."

I can't help it, I bust out in choked laughter, he's so damn serious, so damn _entitled_. The mystery of how an arrogant prick like him gets laid revealed, and at that thought I'm laughing even harder, tears forming in my eyes, I can't imagine how he'd react if I'd said that aloud. Not to even mention the look he gets when he realizes I'm laughing _at_ him, stunned is putting it lightly, and it seems even millennia old vampires can't pull off dumb struck well, no matter how many centuries they've had to practice. I'm in a right fit of giggles before he attempts to speak again.

"How-"

I cut him off, "Glamour doesn't work on me." His grip is on my forearms, bruising, and I wince at the brutal treatment.

"HOW?" He growls, and that deep timber vibrates right through my chest, speeding my heart. He's pissed. Well, what do you know, so am I.

"I think I asked you to take your hands off me, Mr. Northman," I reply in a too calm, icy tone, I feel positively feral, imagine what would be occurring right now if I _wasn't_ immune to glamour, what he would have done to me, with me, the mere idea runs my blood cold. He lets out a soft exhale through his teeth, and I grit my own as his fingers dig agonizingly into my flesh, his fangs still distended, peeking cruelly from his lips.

"What are you?" Oh Lordy, not _this_ again. I pull back my lips, bearing my teeth, not as impressive as fangs, but hey, I work with what I'm given.

"A waitress," I insist in a defensive hiss. He snorts, and I let out a choked sound as his grip tightens further, I think he's a few pounds of pressure away from snapping my arms like toothpicks, the feeling is more than painful, it's consuming, all I can think about.

"Why can't I glamour you?" He demands, deadly serious, no hint of mockery or amusement. I'm sorely tempted to tell him it's because he sucks at it, but the searing pain in my arms is a reminder of who's holding all the cards at this point. Honesty is the best principle, Gran used to say, I think Tara would suggest I kick him in the balls, but as usual, Gran's words of wisdom win out.

"I don't know," at his enraged, disbelieving snarl, I add in a high pitched squeal, "I really don't!" He glares down at me, as I mutely wonder if I'll ever have feeling in my arms again, and then he releases them, and a pins and needles burn takes place of the cool numbness that had begin to settle. I hiss through my teeth at the sensation, shit that hurts worse than sandpaper on sunburn.

"Do you usually force yourself on women like that?" I ask in a sullen, disapproving tone, he's spaced out, or so it appears, glaring blankly at a wall at my back. His eyes shift to me slowly, and I resist the urge to shudder.

"Are you always so irritatingly opinionated?" He enquires, deflecting the question.

"Do the words 'morals' or 'honor' mean _anything_ to you?" I shoot back scathingly. I let out a yelp as I find myself suddenly slammed into a wall, two hundred plus pounds of furious vampire looming over me.

"After a century or so, one learns morals are what you make of them, Miss Stackhouse," he's dripping condescension, "Right, wrong, they are labels one applies to defend their own actions, their own _desires_," he half growls the last, peering at me with a unidentifiable heat, "There is no standard for common decency, no matter what your naivety allows you to believe, people _do the right thing_," he spits the last as if it's a foul curse, "only when it serves their purpose, nothing more, nothing less. As for honor," he glares down in lofty appraisal, "I'd very much like to know what a _waitress_," mocking disbelief at the title, "knows of such a thing."

"I know enough to see when a person, vampire or not," I hiss lowly, "is lacking both." For an instant, I half expect him to hit me, but then he blinks, and all that glaring, lethal rage dissipates, and he merely looks, well, _tired_.

"You will leave my establishment this night," he begins, backing off, walking to his desk in his usual, arrogant saunter, his back towards me, leaving me to guess at his expression, "and take your Mr. Compton with you." I sigh in relief, he's letting me go. He's even letting me take Bill. If he wasn't still in the room I'd be doing a victory dance, complete with fist pumping.

He turns, giving me a steady, evaluating look, "However, if you were wise, you would leave him here." He adds, in a weary tone that seems to suggest he knows that's the last thing I intend to do. My hands go to my hips.

"Why's that?" At my irked demand he merely smirks.

"You will return tomorrow," he continues, once again ignoring my question, "and I will see to it that your questions are tended to." His blue eyes flicker over me briefly, "For a small fee, of course."

My nose crinkles, "Of course," I repeat petulantly. He grins, and it's the very same smile I imagined the Cheshire Cat gave to Alice when he informed her that in Wonderland, everyone is mad.

"Until then, Miss Stackhouse." He nods, and I know I've been dismissed, but still…

"One question," I venture, hesitant. Eric's head swivels back towards me, mouth grim.

"One," he allows, begrudgingly, eyes slightly narrowed.

"How could you tell I had Bill's blood?" Is it tattooed on my forehead or something? He looks relieved, and slightly surprised, as if this wasn't the question he anticipated at all. I mentally kick myself for not asking a better one, like what sort of fee, or what exactly he would've done tonight if I _wasn't_ immune to his glamour, but I've already made my choice. He smirks.

"How much do you know about the effects of ingesting vampire blood?" He counters, crossing his arms. I shrug, my eyes resting on an oddly shaped paper holder on his desk, it's covered in some ancient writing I'll never be able to decipher.

"It healed me," I offer matter-of-factly, and he nods like that's way common knowledge, even though Bill made it seem like a real big secret. "Bill said I would have enhanced senses, and um…" a blush burns across my cheeks, my lower lip clamps between my teeth, "increased libido."

"I'm certain Bill has his reasons for leaving out the rest of the blood's side effects," he gives me a devilish grin that implies he's enjoying the apprehension that is likely written all over my face. "But I would never _dare_," now I know he's teasing me, "to overstep my bonds and inform you myself, denying him the chance to redeem your good graces," his playing innocent again, but he's just not very good at it, "that wouldn't be very _moral_ or _honorable_ would it, Miss Stackhouse?" His last words carry a bite, no pun intended.

I stomp my foot, "You're just enjoying messing with me!" I accuse hotly.

"Perhaps you shouldn't make it so simple," he suggests, "Now if that's all, I have a fairly busy night ahead of me, for what's left of it." I'm being dismissed, again.

I strut through the door, internally grumbling about cryptic, antagonizing vampires with blue eyes and tight t-shirts, only pausing just before his office door closes completely to add in a wry, musing tone, "You know, to collect a fee, you'd have to actually _answer_ a question." I let the door click shut, not bothering with his response. I've only just realized that Mr. Taciturn completely evaded my original question, as in, how he knew I had Bill's blood, by distracting me with insinuations that Bill has been withholding information; Eric should get a medal for misdirection. I scowl, no, never mind, he's already got a throne, no need to inflate that blonde head any more, it might just pop under the force of his own ego.

"Sookie, thank God," Bill's suddenly there, his hands on my cheeks, looking me over frantically, I swell with affection under his concern, or well, I did, until he starts moving my hair. I scowl.

"I wasn't bitten," sheesh, is _everyone_ going to check? No one thinks to ask, they just start searching me like I'm a human map. It's like the vampire version of Where's Waldo. Bill pulls me into a hug, relief written on his face, and as he's squeezing the air out of me, unintentionally I assume, I have time to notice Pam's amused glance from over his shoulder, and the fact that she's got blood on her cheek. When she notices my stare, her amusement fades.

"Puppy love, I think I'm going to be nauseas," she comments with a shudder, frowning to herself.

"You've got blood on your cheek," I point out; she cleans it off with her tongue, earning a disgusted look from me.

"Aren't you sweet," she purrs, eyes mocking.

"No," I correct, ignoring the way Bill stiffens around me, "Not really." Her answering smile is infectious.

"I think I could like you, Sookie Stackhouse," she murmurs as she sashays past, her eyes leer at me briefly before she shoots me a pitying look. "Too bad," is all she says, her heels clacking as she retreats, probably going to check on Eric.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask Bill, confused. He clams up, pulling away and shrugging.

"Pam's under the impression that the only good type of human, is the dead type of human," is all he says, earning a startled look from me, before he begins escorting me out of Fangtasia, and back into the real world, I follow numbly, trying to process my night. I don't know why, it's probably Eric's doing, with his silly insinuations and goading, but I get the feeling Pam's remark meant something else, and that Bill, the only one I could even consider trusting in this crazy place, as paranoid as it sounds, is in fact, lying to me. God, I hope I'm wrong.

**A/N**: Smirks. Ha. I love Eric. Pam too. Read, review, or just click onward, who am I to tell you what to do?


	2. Chapter 2

Dead From the Beginning

**A/N: **I was so happy to see all the reviews this story gained, it warmed my heart, and to those who requested a insight to Eric's POV, I will say that I dislike rewriting the same scene twice, but I was inspired to paraphrase some of his thoughts/motives from the last chapter and let him take over for a bit in this chapter. So, without further ado….

**Chapter Two: **All Ways Are the Queen's Ways

The drive home with Bill Compton last night, while largely uneventful, contained more of that obnoxious ancient music, and even more annoying conversation. Well, to be fair, technically to have a conversation you'd have to be speaking, and I think I got about all of five sentences out of the taciturn vampire last night, and that's a generous estimate. I didn't like the way he looked, oddly resolved, grimly defeated, I may not be able to read his thoughts, but Bill let's some things show on his face, and those things are worrying me something awful. It's all I can do not to focus on a certain icy eyed vampire with blonde hair and poor people skills; my meeting with Eric is like the icing on the cake of trouble I've baked myself into, and it's sprinkled with all sorts of worries, fears, and misgivings.

Meanwhile, I've got twenty loud thinkers in here, all locals, with thoughts about as inspired as a infomercial, that I'm forced to pick the brains of in an effort to determine which '_friendly_' face staring back at me belongs to the person who is brutally murdering young women in our small town. The thought of it makes my stomach churn, and the actual idea of picking out the culprit is daunting, especially since the odds are it's someone I know, someone I've spoken with, or at the very least, served French fries to on a weeknight. So in summary, I've got a meeting with a vampire Sheriff tonight, the heebie-jeebies over Bill Compton's evasive act, and too much of other people's stupid in my head for my own comfort. Just another night at Merlotte's Bar and Grille in Bon Temps, Louisiana I suppose.

"You look like shit," my best friend observes archly. Tara's always had a way with words, in the way that she can make even the simplest observation offensive. I sense Sam's attention shift, even if his back is still turned, and know that this is likely the opening line for the Tara and Sam Vampire Inquisition. Goody goody gum drops. As if my night wasn't stressful enough.

"Thanks Tara, you look pretty miserable yourself," I shot back with a perky smile. She frowns, nearly spilling the pitcher of beer she just finished pouring, passing it to a plaid wearing local with excess force, foamy beer sloshing over the sides as the pitcher wobbled precariously. Her hawk eyes lock with mine, glinting like amber in her dark mocha complexion.

"Sookie, you know those vampires are trouble," she begins, lecturing, accusing. Her sharp features always emphasize her bitchy attitude in the most flattering of fashions. If she wasn't my best friend I wouldn't even bother with an answer.

"And candy will rot your teeth," I supply cheekily, wiping up a spill with an errant smirk.

"Sookie," the tone is warning, and its Sam Merlotte on the rebound, ever helpful, ever annoyingly there when I need him least; his forest green eyes peer at me in concern.

"Oh all right," I fling up my hands in defeat, staring at my two man verbal hit squad I implore them in grim acceptance, "Let it out." They're going to anyway. Might as well face it head on, like a car collision. As if seeing it coming will lessen the overall damage. Damn, sometimes I hate loving my friends; it would be so much easier to tell them both to mind their own damn business. Not that Tara would ever think to listen, or Sam, now that I think on it.

"You're too smart to be going to a vampire club," Tara flings at me, lips pursed into a sour pucker. She gives an impatient customer at the bar a lethal look, as he's decided perhaps snapping his fingers at Tara is a wise incentive for her to hurry along his order, he must not know her _at all_, "Do I look like a dog to you? Snap those fingers at me again and I'll break them off." Sam shoots her a mildly taken aback look at this, before turning to me again; apparently he can only play mother hen to one girl at a time, lucky me. Tara goes to fill the drinks with much huffing, nearly sloshing them out of their glasses as she shoves them into the burly customer's hands, her expression is priceless.

"Sookie, that place is dangerous," Sam tells me, in full overbearing boss mode. I know he's the only employer I've been able to stand for this long without quitting, but the side bars about my personal business have really got to end.

"Really?" It's the stress that's making me sarcastic. With a pending meeting at Fangtasia tonight on top of the fact that I'm still listening in on everybody for Gran, not to even mention the weirdness I've been picking up from Bill, well, let's just say I'm running on a short fuse.

Sam grabs my arm, his tri-colored eyes serious, a lock of golden brown hair on his brow as his penetrating eyes search mine, whatever he's looking for, I don't think he finds it, "I thought you were just going there for answers about Dawn and Maudette." I shrug off his loose grip, trying not to wince obviously, those bruises Eric left on my arms won't be healing anytime soon, stupid vampire strength. Why is it that every time I turn around there are problems, problems, and more problems?

"That's why I'm going back," I turn to Tara, begging with my eyes, "I thought you'd understand, I _have _to help Jason." It's a low blow, playing on her unrequited love for my brother, but calling me dumb wasn't exactly taking the high road either. Her loose braids fly as she spins on me, like some ancient warrior goddess in the midst of a battle, her hands on her slender hips, lips parted in a sneer. Damn, and I'd been sure that one would work.

"Sookie, helping Jason doesn't mean getting killed," she points out bluntly, "That's no help at all. I'm just sick of watching you make moon eyes at _him_," she adds with a glare, "he's going to chew you up and spit you out faster than you can say _Oh Bill_," she snaps her fingers in emphasis before turning back to the bar with murder gleaming in her coal hued eyes. Lovely, she's so not being nominated for the best friend of the year award any time soon.

"I don't know why everybody's so keen to say I can't handle myself," I rant, exasperated with them both, stomping towards my tables, it's a slow night, which just goes to figure. Anytime you want something over quickly it seems to drag, and drag, and drag…. I'm driving myself around the bend trying to wrap my head around Eric, and his intentions, and Bill's sudden standoffishness is not helping matters one tiny bit. I don't know who to trust, people are dying, and my friends can't do a cotton picking thing but criticize.

"It's not you we don't trust," Sam flings at me with his eyebrows arched, giving me the old stink eye as I march past him, my hand going for the ketchup. I shoot him a look over my shoulder when I reach the condiments, about to tell him what's what, and then I falter, because honestly, I don't really trust vampire Bill that much right now either.

"Look," I sigh, this isn't the time or place to voice my newfound doubts about Bill, instead, I go for as honest as I can manage with ten people craning to overhear every syllable that leaves my mouth, "I wouldn't be going if I didn't have to, alright?" Sam's face goes solid, stony; he straightens, peering at me for too long a moment, eyes telegraphing concern.

"_Have to_ Sookie? Do we need to talk?" Oh for the love of…

"No!" I snap, "Not everything in my life is an open debate!" I shove past him and his worried eyes, nearly slamming the fresh ketchup bottle on the table, and jostling the two overweight woman there, they wiggle like jell-o as their none too kind thoughts flood me, nothing particularly malevolent, heck, they're not even _original_, just more of the usual 'scrawny little ditz', and 'that's the one who's vampire bait', I give them a nasty look as I go back to face my judge and jury. Tara's already waiting with a fresh argument poised on her lips, hands still clutching her hips as she stares me down. Or tries to.

"What does Adele think of all this?" She demands, haughty and aggressive.

"Gran's just sad that the Decedents of the Glorious Dead meeting had to be postponed," I grit out in irritation. "It's not exactly easy telling the whole town all their hard work is going down the drain."

"Yeah, I'm sure they're _real_ disappointed," Tara scoffs, rolling her eyes. That's about as much as I can handle. Insulting me is one thing, that's practically a Bon Temps tradition, insulting Bill, well, he's a big man and can handle himself, but Gran, she's _totally_ off limits, no one insults my Gran, even by association.

"You listen to me Tara Mae Thornton," I hiss, slapping down a tray I collected on my way back to the bar, turning towards her with a disappointed glare, "Gran worked real hard on that meeting, and there was nothing worse than having to tell her that Bill and I couldn't make it because we'd been summoned to a vampire bar, but _she_ understands that it's for Jason, and that I'm doing my best, so don't you _dare_ get snitty with me."

"Well maybe it's for the better;" Tara snaps back, eyes flinty, "Not everyone was so keen on having him speak anyway." She flips her braids and stomps over to a waiting customer.

"Summoned?" Sam repeats worriedly, giving me his frowning, drawn eyebrow look that suggests he's really thinking something over, working it out. I give him a look that says if he starts in on me again, I just might fly off the handle and do something _really_ stupid, like tell them both where to shove their bigoted attitudes and good intentions, and it won't be a place where the sun shines.

"Oh for the love of God, Sam," I whine in exasperation, "Is it too much to ask that you'all give me a second's peace?" He blinks, and with a sour scowl, angrily shrugs and stomps back to his office. Damn, I'm just a people pleaser tonight. I didn't think I'd be looking forward to Bill's arrival, given our destination, but now he can't show up soon enough. I need out of here. Now.

"Don't mind them," Lafayette's smooth, sexy drawl suggests, like whip cream over hot fudge, a sultry smile on his pearl tinted lips, he's been observing everything from his post at the kitchen, "They've just been rolling around in jealousy, and the stank ain't come off them yet," he gives me a saucy wink, "Let the dust settle and they'll remember they're not all that."

I laugh, because Lafayette always makes me laugh, "Stank?" I question with an incredulous look. He's been gesturing with his spatula, and now he points it at me.

"Evil emotions fester, leave a smell on a person, ugly, nasty," he smirks as he sashays his hips, "but it'll wear off, ain't no bad thing permanent, ain't nothing permanent for that matter. Just let them stew in it, no need for it to rub off on your sweet self." How he always manages to make me feel better, I don't know, but if you could bottle Lafayette and sell him as a pick-me-up, I'd buy.

"Thanks!" I give him my best smile. He shoos me onward, smacking the air with the spatula as he starts to hum and gyrate all around the kitchen. I shake my head, Lafayette is something else. Terry runs into me as I pass, apologizing automatically.

"You know," he tells me in his utterly serious way, "You shouldn't be so hard on Sam." I nod, patting his shoulder. I like Terry, his mind is usually sweet, a bit jumbled, but kind in nature. It's not his fault he doesn't get why Sam pushes all my buttons.

"I'll try," I tell him, shooting him my best smile too and earning that half bewildered smile Terry can muster before Sam distracts him with orders to unload a new shipment of beer. Maybe tonight won't be so bad after all.

Or maybe, I revise to myself two hours later, frozen in shock, it'll be worse than I imagined. Bill's arrived, and he's brought a friend, and this might just be my sudden surge of utter dislike talking, but the moment I lay eyes on her I hate her guts. Even Tara's staring, shocked. Sam looks, well, like Sam _always_ looks, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and all he can do about it is worry. Not helpful. Lafayette starts humming 'It's a Man's World' in the kitchen. Arlene scurries to the back, looking terrified.

"Oh-ho, how quaint," derision leaks from the new vampire's lips like candied poison, sweet and acidic, "And I thought Sophie-Anne's calling this place a pile of sticks was a understatement," her laugh is _not_ nice.

She's young looking, but as a vampire that can always be deceptive, with hair like a raven's feathers, short, black and feathered, it matches her shrewd black as tar eyes. Bill looks like he's walking on coal and not pressboard wood as he approaches me, a guarded wariness in his eyes. Usually, when Bill walks into Merlotte's the world stops. It feels like it's just him and me, the only two people in the entire place, the town, the world, nothing matters but his deep eyes, his silky black hair and pale skin, it's like we're caught in a gossamer bubble that nothing can pop. It's beautiful, moving, I usually feel my every cell, every breath, attuning to his presence, drinking him in like a man used to living on sand and sun and suddenly being introduced to water and air. It's like Bill reminds me I'm alive and breathing, he makes me feel desired, whole… or that's what _usually_ happens.

Tonight, I feel cold, hallow and empty. Like a human ice box, my insides frozen and covered in frost, my teeth clamped so tight they might crack and crumble, my eyes stuck on the slender, pixie-like woman picking at her black nail polish while she sneers at the local patrons. There is no secluded bubble of attraction this time, no sense of completion, no beautiful moment, just an angry, void ache, one that recedes to a dull throb in my chest. Bill's eyes are now locked on me, but I can't meet his gaze. I feel betrayed, but I don't know why. It's not like he's mine, and last night I was so set on remaining not his, but I can't help the venomous glare I shoot his companion, what the hell is going on here?

"Sookie," he rasps, clasping my face, staring down at me in soft wonder.

"Who's she?" I demand, not to be sidetracked with his liquid voice and inhumanly good looks. A pained look flashes through his eyes.

"We can't go to Fangtasia tonight," he informs me in a husky drawl, "This is Leila. Sookie, Leila, Leila, Sookie," he rushes through the introductions, the black haired girl smirks at me, slowly licking her lips, "she's here to ensure our safety." I give Leila a disgusted look, and then turn back to Bill, my mind whirling over what he's said, and what he hasn't said. My heart, and other, not so discerning parts, tell me I can trust Bill, that he'll protect me, but Eric's words echo like a offbeat tune in my head, his almost warnings seem suddenly foreboding, and now we're not going back to Fangtasia?

"What about Eric?" I press. Bill's face instantly shutters, mouth going grim, eyes hard and accusatory.

"What about him?" he growls. I don't even care that everyone's watching, listening, I shove Bill with my right hand, a little tap to let him know I'm in no mood for vampire evasion tonight. I want answers. I want them now. Before I go into the night with Bill Compton and his prepubescent Devil's Bride. That's what she looks like, in her black cut off jeans, spiky boots, and blood red halter, like a modern Bride of Dracula, her black eyes ringed in smoky grey, skin pale and perfect.

"Won't he be _mad_?" I emphasize, my eyes slide to the girl, because with that undeveloped frame, and heart shaped face she couldn't have been more than fifteen when she was turned, if that. Despite her sneer, and my first impression, she still looks devastatingly young, not yet a woman, not still a child, and I feel a brief surge of pity because I realize she'll never get to grow up, never be more than she is now. It mollifies me, slightly.

"That's why I have requested Leila's assistance," he responds, frustrated that I'm not just grabbing his hand and dashing out like I normally would. Well, that was before vampires tried to kill me in his home, and Eric Northman almost bit me in his office, I may be naïve, but no matter what people say, I'm not dumb. The phrase, too good to be true flits through my head as I consider Eric just letting us get out of the meeting, and suddenly it clicks. I feel sort of stupid for not realizing it sooner.

"We're running?" I ask, agape. He sighs, giving me his most tender look.

"Sookie, you must trust me, going to Fangtasia tonight will end in your death," His words are low, whispered, but I hear Sam's angry thoughts like a sonic boom before I even sense him beside me. He's giving Bill a look that clearly screams murder, body tense, breathing labored and his usually kind eyes hostile as all get out. Apparently, he's returned from his sulk in his office just in time to eavesdrop on my conversation. They begin their mute glare-down; it's practically tradition between them by now.

"And then what?" I demand, hands on my hips. Both men look to me as if just remembering I'm there. _Men_. "I said, after we don't go tonight, _then what_?" My foot begins to tap as the dark haired vampire begins to look more and more taciturn, retreating from me, all tenderness gone.

"I will protect you, I give you my word," he says it like that's everything, like his promise settles it, as if his word should be enough. I thought I wanted him, completely, as my own, wanted to rely on someone, be loved by them, taken care of, and I sincerely thought I wanted all the above with Bill Compton, but suddenly the prospect of trusting my life, my well being, to anyone other than myself is ludicrous, beyond comprehension. I will never lose my life to a man, Gran raised me better, and his words don't explain, they're merely trying to smooth things over. He wants my unconditional trust, but he won't give me even _half_ of his, not even enough to tell me what the hell is going on.

"You'll have to do better than that," I tell him. He seems shocked. "I mean, I don't know if you've realized, but I can't exactly just drop my whole life and run off with you and _Leila_," I can't help but spit her name, to her credit she gives me a cocky little finger wave, unbothered by my dislike. She's currently absorbed in eyeing the dead alligator on the wall. "And what about him being a Sheriff? I thought you said that meant you couldn't disobey him, that's what you told me in the car last night!" I accuse.

"Usually, you are correct, however, my current orders come from a higher source," he responds evasively. My eyes narrow.

"Orders?" I near hiss, "From whom? To do what? Why would I die? You've got to give me _something_ Bill; I can't take this _all_ in on faith." I point out hotly; glad for once that Sam's a quiet, solid comfort by my side, his eyes seething distrust. It makes me feel protected, like I've got an ally.

"We'll speak in the car," he promises, reaching out his hand, and it's so inviting. This is Bill, he saved my life, I've never been so attracted to anyone, ever, and the sappy, sentimental part of me stubbornly insists that that's enough of a reason to give him the unconditional trust he so desperately wants. I chew my lip, still undecided.

"Sookie, for once," Sam pleads, nearly begging, "do the reasonable thing, stay here." He gazes at Bill in fear, not anger, like usual, but actual fear. This triggers something in me, only reinforcing my own gut feeling, something's wrong about this.

"If she stays," Bill growls, giving Sam a long look, trying to press the severity of his words on the tousled haired bar owner, "he will come for her." Sam doesn't look convinced, and frankly, I don't blame him. There's something not right, I can feel it. Gran always says my instincts are top notch, and I won't abandon them now.

"Eric?" even I catch the disbelief in my voice. Eric Northman doesn't look like the type to chase down some mouthy waitress in a Bon Temps bar just to kill them (maybe to have sex, given his little power display in his office, I could believe that one, shameless womanizer). Focus, Sookie, I remind myself sternly, deal with the suspicious vampire in front of you now, and the oversexed domineering one later.

Bill nods, once again offering his hand.

"Alright, tell me who's ordering this, and I'll go," I cross my arms, giving the dark haired vampire my most stubborn glare. I won't let us both get killed for disobeying his Sheriff, and that's what I see this whole running plan coming to without a genuinely more powerful vampire behind us. Besides, the idea of _Leila_ protecting me from Eric Northman is beyond laughable, she's shorter than _me_ even! I don't care how old she is really, it's simple physics, Eric is six four at least, and she's barely pushing five feet, it doesn't make sense that she's here for my protection. None of this does. There are more loopholes in his story than plot.

Just then, the phone rings. Sam glowers, giving me his best boss man look, "Don't move," he orders gruffly, and turning to Bill he adds meaningfully, "I mean it."

Gran raised me to believe in divine intervention, it went hand in hand with prayer and faith, but I never thought I'd experience it, never had the need for it really. Who would've guessed God would use someone like Pam as his interjection? Not me. It took about three seconds for sheer shock to work its way on Sam's face, and another twenty for him to call out over the noise of the bar,

"Sookie, it's for you!" perplexed, because nearly everyone I knew was here, I immediately assumed it was Gran, and so, it seems, did Bill, because he grabbed my shoulder lightly, and half-whispered in my ear,

"Tell her I'm taking you to a spa for a few days, or a sports game, or anything, we will return as soon as possible, but not even I can say how long that will be," I can't tell if he's ordering or suggesting, but his eyes have taken on that grave, too serious look again. I wish he'd stop having mood swings, I wish he'd just be up front for once, but instead of saying all that, I just nod and go to take the phone from Sam.

"Hello?" I try to sound less depressed and conflicted than I feel, near positive I'm about to put on my acting skills to convince my elderly grandmother that I'm being taken to a spa by my new vampire friend. If he's even my friend, I'm not so sure, and I'm in no hurry to follow his orders, should I be perhaps telling Gran to wait up for me instead?

"Well hello yourself," my jaw actually drops as the semi-irritated voice of Pam filters through the phone line, "There wouldn't happen to be a large, stupid looking vampire in your bar right about now? Trying to convince you to skip out on our meeting, would there?" Her voice is a sweet as honey laced arsenic.

"Shit," I whisper. She chuckles.

"You owe me two pairs," she calls to someone on her end, Eric I'm assuming, but pairs of what? "Thank you Sookie darling," she adds to me, "I would've hated to lose these pumps, they're my favorite."

"What, exactly, were you wagering?" Is my apprehensive whisper.

"On how stupid, exactly, your Mr. Compton could be," Pam laughs at something, "Eric has overestimated his skills of intimidation, it seems." Suddenly the mirth vanishes from her voice, "Now, Sookie, dear, listen closely, and try not to speak," she drawls, sounding half-bored, "That vampire in your bar, he came with a friend, didn't he?" I gasp. She calls to the background, "Three pairs!" Not waiting for answer, she continues, "Now let's see, I bet he got all manly, 'Sookie, you're in danger,' didn't he? Men," she sighs in disgust, "Well I'll tell you something, breather, because I like you," she adds the last matter-of-factly, I probably look aghast at that little tid bit, and by now Sam looks puzzled, "The second you leave that bar, your _dear_ Mr. Compton is going to tie you up like a roast pig, and deliver you to a _very_ powerful vampire, at which point, sweetheart, you're on your own, despite all those pretty little promises he likes to whisper in your ear." She's enjoying this, I can tell, in her own special, vindictive, Pam-like fashion. "Sorry to say, that friend of his is the delivery boy, seems our Bill isn't man enough to do it himself, he always was afraid of getting his hands dirty," she muses caustically. A shiver runs up my spine.

"So what do I do?" I'm calm. I shouldn't be, but I am. Dead calm.

Her tone carries begrudging respect, "Well, you can always go," she suggests, "I think you'd look nice in rope."

"Pam!" I hiss.

"Oh all right," she sighs in boredom, "Option two, wait there."

"For what?" I near growl.

I can hear the smirk in her voice as she says, ever so sweetly, "Why, for Eric, of course." Oh goody.

"Why should I trust you?" I demand, she's nothing to me, for heaven's sake I just met her the night before. Bill saved my life, don't I owe him more? Isn't he the one who's _earned_ my trust? Has he? Do I trust him? Would I still be on the phone if I did…? I hate when I'm not sure of something.

"The question is, sweet pea," she drawls derisively, "why not?" The phone line clicks. Huh. Why not…? There are so very many good reasons to choose from. Like their club. That place is bad vibe central. Eric Northman, he's a reason all by himself. The blood on Pamela's cheek, the gothic girl, the freaking _throne_, sound proof rooms and the fact that Bill says they'll kill me. All good reasons. All sane, logical reasons to grab Bill Compton's hand and high tail it so fast out of Merlotte's you'd think the devil was on my heels.

_He came with a friend, didn't he?...tie you up like a roast pig…that friend of his is the delivery boy…_

Her words echo morbidly in my head, as sharp and caustic as the vampire herself. She'd known everything, every detail, without me breathing a single word. Either she was Ms. Cleo in disguise, or she was telling the truth. Or perhaps she knew what was _really_ going on, and was setting it up to look like something it wasn't, the only problem with that theory being she'd given me a full explanation in five minutes, and Bill hadn't managed to be even _mostly_ specific when questioned for a good fifteen. Add in the logic that even _if _Pam was a liar, it was obvious she knew exactly what was going on here, and therefore if Bill _was_ trying to save me and get me out of Bon Temps, he'd failed already, as they were obliviously on to us. This left only one option. When you rule out option B and C, 'A' is really all that's left, even if it seems to be the least likely at first glance. The only question is, will Eric arrive in time? Quickly followed by, oh Lordy, am I actually trusting _him_ to save me?

I plunk the phone back down, realizing I looked pretty stupid just standing here and holding a dial tone to my ear, and turn around just in time to run into Bill, face first. I scowl at him, firstly, because I'd already told him plenty of times that the whole 'vampire speed' thing is just overkill, not to mention it annoys me, and secondly, because he's quite solid and now my nose hurts.

"Who were you speaking to?" There's a note to his voice, something that makes me squint up at him suspiciously. It's like he already knows, like he was listening in, which, he probably was, vampire hearing being what it is and all.

"It won't work," I tell him, and watch with morbid fascination as panic darts across his expression, "The plan to cut tail and run, it's not happening. It won't work," I repeat, causing him to blink rapidly and frown to himself. Just what did Bill Compton think I was implying? Meanwhile, Sam's watching Leila like a dog watches something just outside its fence, waiting for her to be stupid enough to cross that line to give him a reason to attack, course, I wouldn't recommend that Sam Merlot pit himself against a vampire any time soon, no matter how tiny she is.

Bill's staring at me cautiously, looking mighty worried all the sudden, "Sookie, this is our only chance." I purse my lips, cynically wondering 'chance for what?' as I stare up into his rugged features, handsome only gets you so far Billy boy, and that pretty much flies out the window completely if you're planning on kidnapping me. After all, a girl's got to have standards, and while I'm pretty ambivalent to the whole fang thing, I definitely draw the line at being tied up and delivered like a cut of meat. But I don't call Bill out on anything; I'm not positive what he's up to, not just yet.

"They're on to us already, that was Pam," I wait, seeing the gears churning in his head, they should make some sort of noise given the pained expression on his face, like their digging against one another in an effort to sort this out and somehow make this work for him and not against him. Fat chance. "She said Eric's on his way," I add matter-of-factly, crossing my arms over my Merlotte's uniform.

"Then we must go now," Bill utters decisively, looking all intense and worried, "He could be here at any moment." Uh-huh. Funny thing about me already being in my twenties, I wasn't born yesterday, contrary to common vampire belief, and I'm not stupid either. Naïve at times, but not stupid, I'll leave that to Jason, he's got more than enough dumb to go around and then some left over to spare. The drive from Shreveport is a good two hours, maybe one hour if you drive something fast and reckless, and by that logic Eric Northman cannot _possibly_ be here any moment unless he left an hour ago, but I think I'm just fine with Bill not knowing that.

"Actually, I'm sort of counting on it," I inform him pointedly, eyes mutely accusing while my fingers dig into my arms, just like I'm digging in my heels. I've made my choice, and I don't go back on my decisions easily. I don't trust Eric Northman any farther than I can throw his obscenely oversized self, but I definitely don't trust Bill, not even slightly, and this Leila woman is even farther up on my shit list.

I've drawn a line in the sand, and it's circled around little ol' me and nobody else, in other words, I'm on my own side. Whoever is as committed to keeping me alive as I am, can feel free to join me. I suppose Pam can come in, seeing as she might've just saved my life. I bet she'd be as pleased as a cat with a canary to see how upset my refusal is making Bill; I know I'm finding it cynically amusing. Like the way some people can stare at a car crash and smirk.

"I see," he half growls, face set in a dark glower. I cock an eyebrow at him, tilting my head like an owl, my pony tail swishing at my back.

"Really? Do you?" I question in a sugary voice, my smile as fake as plastic. "That's just super, because I really don't. What the hell is going on here Bill?" at his near eager expression I add warningly, "The truth, if it's not too much trouble, Mr. Compton." I've put on my big girl shoes, and I'm _so_ ready to kick some undead butt if his answer isn't satisfying, I might not be able to overpower him, but I'm sure Sam has something silver laying around here somewhere…

"And make it real good," Tara suggests archly, suddenly at my side and looking her most vicious. I smile at her gratefully from the corner of my gaze, and she smirks. I missed that. Tara's a real good ally to have when you're getting ready to battle, heck, she's good for a fight whenever, even if it's not what you originally intended.

"These are matters you cannot fully comprehend," Bill begins, voice gruff and affronted, his somber eyes peering at me heatedly. I feel, rather than see, Tara bristle at my side, her mind spewing a whole load of toxic thought, stringing along a few flavorful cusses as to her opinion on Bill's haughty declaration. I almost laugh when she mentally pictures kicking him, Gran doesn't call her Thorny for no reason.

"Try me," I suggest through my teeth. His eyebrows lift, surprised, as if he didn't see that one coming. My opinion on him is falling fast and still dropping.

"Leila," Bill says, just that one word, pregnant with meaning. I hear Tara's mental 'oh shit' before I catch glimpse of that statement echoed in the majority of the bar's patrons, the tiny prepubescent vampire leaps over Sam like it's nothing, moving in a jumping blur of red and black, and lands right in front of me, her expression vindictively pleased. Oh hell no.

"You should've just played along," she coos at me, playful, obviously in her element, "it might have hurt less." Her smile is poison, nothing kind in those eyes. It's make it or break it time, and it looks like everybody's showing their hand, and Bill's just laid down a full house. Lucky I've still got an ace up my sleeve. I jut my chin, baring my teeth in an unfriendly smile.

"I don't know if you've noticed," I began in my too sweet, Crazy Sookie way, "but you're sort of in a bar, filled with people," I shoot her a condescending look, "and they'll sort of notice if you start dragging me out kicking and screaming. So you might just want to mosey on off, before I decide to find something sharp and silver," I hiss the last angrily, shooting a pissed off look at Bill, who's suddenly developed an issue with meeting my eyes, go figure. Pam was right, he's chicken shit. Not even man enough to do it himself. Whatever, I'll deal with him once I've handle the vampire version of mighty mouse, the girl doesn't even reach my chin, she's that small, but she's got that aloof, better than you attitude I've started to associate with most vamps, glaring up at me with such cocky self confidence.

"You think you're hot shit, don't you bitch?" She asks rhetorically, fangs bared in a silent snarl, by this point most of Sam's customers have scampered out the door, terrified, but a few drunks remain, too far gone to realize what's really happening, along with Sam himself, Tara, and of course, me. Terry and Lafayette are probably around somewhere too, but I don't see them. "How about I cut this human's throat? Will you go willing then?" she's suddenly behind Tara, her pale skin a sharp contrast to the other girl's mocha coloring, her thin fingers wrapped around my best friend's jugular warningly, "or do you want to watch me kill them all?" Her devil black eyes dart across the room behind her, marking the inhabitants, like bird of prey eyeing mice, "One by one…" She trails off, licking her lips… I feel my protective instinct rear its furious head, frantic and fierce, my eyes scan for anything silver, a cork screw, a fork, _anything_, and to my supreme disappointment, come back with nothing useful.

"Bitch, you bite me and I'll..." Tara's threat is cut short but Leila choking her, her fingers squeezing until the taller girl's oxygen supply is cut off, causing little gagging noises to emit from her mouth, and her brown eyes to bulge a bit in their sockets. If anything, that just seems to piss Tara off more; she struggles like a hell cat in the vampire's grip, her mind a torrent of pure animalistic rage and violence. Leila better pray to whatever god listens to a soul sucking bitch like herself that Tara doesn't find a way to get out of that grip, or she's about to be in a world of hurt.

"Let go of my friend," I growl, fists clenched, back arched, shoulders squared, "Now."

"You don't get it, do you?" Leila lets out a spiteful, hateful cackle, as ugly and crude as the woman-child herself. "Oh honey," she shoots me a pitying look, full of mockery, "I'm just getting warmed up." She smiles at me with her painted black lips, Medusa incarnate, her talon-like nails polished coffin black trail Tara's cheek in a sickening caress. This vampire is really starting to bug me.

"I save you from drainers and this is the thanks I get?" I demand of Bill, when facing a savage attack dog, it's best to try reasoning with the one holding the leash. Or that's my theory anyway. I haven't had much experience with homicidal vampires until just recently. Leila looks pissed at being dismissed, poor thing, she'll get over it.

"Sookie…" he begins, his voice coaxing and hurt, looking like a kicked puppy, "You don't understand, I have no choice." Uh-huh. Funny how people doing awful things always have some excuse. I _had _to, they _made_ me do it, or, my all time favorite: _there was no other way_, but it all comes down to the same thing in the end, weakness of character; and you don't have to be a mind reader to know that they're just afraid to stand up for what they believe in, too chicken to do the right thing.

"Everyone has a choice," I retort confidently, my eyes travel to Tara's glowering but so far unharmed person, still behind held captive by the ever so delightful Leila, "And right now you're choosing to let my friends get hurt, you're choosing to hurt _me_," I inform him in an emotional declaration, practically bristling with righteous anger, and beneath that, the sting of betrayal, "And for what? Huh, Bill? Can you at least tell me that much? What's worth all this?" I gesture to our surroundings with a wide sweep on my arm, glaring, "Tell me how any of this is _okay_," I challenge.

"Don't force me to hurt you," He almost pleads. I jerk as if stabbed, my eyes wide as plates and my mouth a grim, pursed line. So that's how it is…

"Nobody's forcing you to do anything, far as I can see," I spit at him in disgust, "You want to hurt me Bill? Go right ahead, nobody's stopping you, but leave my friends out of this," I demand, venom in my voice and eyes, "they've never done anything to you."

Bill glances at me in shock, whether it's because he wasn't expecting me to be all noble and not let others suffer on my behalf like a decent person, or because I told him to go ahead and hurt me, I don't know. Don't really care either. He wants to be the big, bad, stereotypical vampire preying on the weak little human girl, that's his business, but this _little girl_ isn't going down without a fight, he should know that much about me by now, if nothing else.

"Sookie…" He begins again. Lord I'm tired of hearing my name on his lips.

"I think, considering you're trying to kidnap me and all, Miss Stackhouse is more appropriate," I point out archly, hands on my hips, I can see Tara running through all sorts of ideas on how to get away from Leila, I just have to keep the fang bearing people in the bar focused on me for a bit longer, just long enough for Leila to slip up, just once, and give Tara her opportunity to escape. I tell myself this repeatedly, like a mantra, like saying it will make it true, force it into becoming a reality.

"This is not how this was supposed to occur," Bill utters in frustration, it seems like it's directed more at the general world than myself, so I wait, cocking my head inquisitively. He notices my regard and sighs, nostrils flaring as he half growls, "If you would have only declared yourself as mine," he starts, sounding indignant.

"Then what?" I ask, incredulous, "You would've put this off a bit, seen what else you could get out of me before you do _this_, whatever it is?" My face morphs into loathing at the flash of guilt in his eyes, "I'm so glad I'm not yours Bill Compton, you have no idea." So very, very glad. Ecstatic even. Pom-poms waving happy, skipping happy, spiking the football at the game winning touchdown happy. I've never been more proud of a decision I've made in my entire life, ever.

"I could have protected you," he tells me fiercely, eyebrows drawn, voice a heated growl, "If you were mine, no one could have stopped me from protecting you." I arch my eyebrows, taking a step forward, looking up at him with steel in my spine and gumption in my stance. I'm searching his profile avidly for the decent guy I thought I'd seen in there somewhere, the southern gentleman that charmed Gran and saved my life, the one I'd defended against my friends, and trusted despite a couple of pretty good reasons not to, but all I find is this disturbing stranger, a man I don't recognize, nothing but a wolf in sheep's clothing. I let a scowl twist my lips, utterly dissatisfied.

"Prove it," I hiss, causing him to blink rapidly. My hands dig into my hips bones, my voice feral, "Prove it right now, call off your _friend_," I shoot Leila a look of utter hatred, "or I'll never believe you." Not that I believed him now, but if there was a chance, a tiny, buried little sliver of compassion left in my heart for the vampire I was currently staring at, this was his chance to monopolize on it, and there would be no others.

"You don't know what you ask," his eyes dart away from my glare, despair tinting his usually handsome features, he looks weary, like he's fought some big internal battle and lost. Well, bully for him then, I suppose we all know what Bill Compton's really like underneath it all. A part of me is I sure that I should be more shocked, but for some reason, I'm really not, in fact, for a moment, I almost feel strangely relieved.

"Sophie-Anne isn't paying us to talk," comes Leila's nearly bored sounding reminder, her face twisted in petulant impatience, "grab the human telepath and let's go." Her eyes meet Bill's in haughty demand, waiting, expectant. He snarls at her, asserting his dominance, at least I now know for sure who's in charge. Still, Leila doesn't look very impressed, subdued slightly, but not very intimidated, "I share a house with Andre, sweet cheeks, that's not going to get me trembling," she informs him in a cocky drawl, lips quirking wryly.

"Keep provoking me and I'll ensure you see more of Andre than you wish," he growls back, his temper snapping, the vampire girl blanches, grinding her sharp teeth and look at the floor in sullen irritation, hands tightening around Tara in her frustration. "Now stop fooling around and do your job," he commands bitterly, turning away as if not watching means he's somehow not responsible. Coward.

"Can we take this one as a snack? She looks juicy," Leila asks in a sensual purr, fangs peeking through her pouty ink black lips. Tara tries to scream something like 'go to hell', it's sort of hard to tell the exact words because her throat is still in a chokehold, but the general message is loud and clear.

"No!" Bill barks, "You will cease these petty antics and do as I say!" Well, who spit in his cereal? I tense, getting ready to fight and hoping the vamp blood in my veins will give me some leverage against the now slitted eyed vampire glaring me down. Come on bitch, try me.

"Fine!" She snaps, "Fucking spoil sport," she adds nastily, throwing Tara aside, the taller girl whips across the bar like a tossed doll, her forehead cracking against the solid wood bar in a sickening crunch. Sam's at her side in an instant, checking her limp body over, his worried, hazel eyes trained on me in fear even as he tears his t-shirt to use as a make-shift bandage for the blood slowly oozing from Tara's head, I hear from his thoughts that she'll live, but the gash looks painful, enough to knock her out cold. I bite my lip, worried for my friend, and turn with vengeance to the vampire who dared to come into _my_ town, to _my_ work, and hurt _my_ friends. She really picked the wrong waitress to mess with.

"Here kitty, kitty," the vampire taunts mockingly, puckering her lips in a kissy noise and crooking her finger at me, "Come get some, you know you want to." Her eyes gleam, nails glinting in the bar lighting like glossy black arrow heads, lips curved in wicked delight.

"Ugh," I exclaim in disgust, "You are so gross." I'm backing up as I speak, giving the impression of being wary, scared, my hands fumble behind my back clumsily before my left hand finds the neck of a thick liquor bottle, it won't kill her, but if I'm lucky it'll hurt her pretty badly, maybe slow her down a bit. The vampire girl giggles, and it's even more disturbing than her humorless cackle, eyes bright and intense beneath raccoon rings of black as she lets out the disturbingly childlike noise.

She clucks her tongue at me, swaying back and forth predatorily, "Feisty little kitten, show me your claws, come on," she croons in a too sugary tone, eyes like burning bits of coal, "Sophie-Anne's been promising me a pet for a while now, and you'd do nicely little kitty. We'll have so much fun playing," she licks her lips, "especially since Bill here says you're a virgin, is that true? Are you _innocent_?" she snickers mockingly at my agape, and outraged expression, immensely pleased with herself.

I give Bill a moment of my attention, glaring at him like I'm wishing looks could kill, and mutely promising revenge for spreading my personal business around, especially to the likes of Leila. The other vampire uses the unintentional opening to strike, her palm whipping across my face in an inhuman blur, so fast it's a streak of pale white before I feel my head jackknifing to the side violently. Briefly, I feel my lip splitting, before the brutal throbbing in my cheek sets in, the world exploding into a dizzying wash of blackness and surreal splotches of color, only to blurrily reassert itself after a few disorientating moments, an instant migraine forming in my temple, throbbing in sharp, painful bursts. Fuck that hurt.

"She is not to be harmed!" Bill hisses in outrage, hand enclosed around the vampire girl's tiny wrist, preventing a second blow. I stagger back, leaning heavily on the bar as my vision slowly clears, my heart thumping erratically from a sudden surge of adrenaline. Leila hisses at him like a cat, spraying a bit of spittle in his face, and smacks him instead; whipping his face to the side, her nails catching his flesh and opening three scratches across his ivory skin. The wounds heal almost instantly, the flesh re-knitting and leaving only a few drops of ruby red blood, but they continue to face off, mutely trying to glare one another down.

"Then you do it!" She snarls, adding in a cocky, confident tone, her stance defensive, "I'm nobody's bitch, Compton, don't forget who asked who to be here tonight." She struts like a feline to the other end of the bar, crossing her arms and eyeing Bill expectantly, as if to say 'your turn'.

"Are you alright?" Bill tries to touch me, reaching out for my cheek with concern heavy in his gaze. Just before his fingers reach the swelling on my face, I haul back my left hand, raising it up and then swiftly down, shattering the tequila bottle over his head in a rain of glass shards and amber liquid. He flounders, staggering dizzily, tequila running down his temples and soaking his black hair, shards of glass glittering like stars where they've caught on his skin or clothing, more pieces rain down on the wood floor like confetti, crunching beneath his boots as he stumbles. I don't give him time to gather himself, reaching for a bottle of Jack Daniels and holding it like a baseball bat, stance poised, lips pursed in a grim line.

"Sookie, watch out!" Sam calls, frantic, but he needn't have bothered. With vampire blood in my veins I can hear her coming, she's only being too quiet for a human to hear, not a vampire, and it shows. I spin, employing a pivot I haven't used since I was eight and Tara and I were forced to go to those horrid ballet lessons at Meryl Hampton's house every other Saturday, learning the same five stupid techniques over and over until our feet ached, balancing my weight on my toes and using my other foot to propel me in a graceful one hundred and eighty degree turn, quick and effective.

As I spin I pull back my arm, jerking the bottle into position, but I over estimate my timing, and she plows into my chest before the bottle connects, sending us both toppling into the wet tequila and broken glass at my feet, my breath escaping in a pained whoosh as she knocks it from my lungs. I hiss as the shards cut into my back, alcohol stinging the fresh wounds, and try to pull the bottle up for a blow to her ugly, snarling face.

"Not this time bitch," she hisses, clamping my hand down to the floor and grinding my wrist into the glass until I'm forced to release the bottle out of sheer pain, it's heavy, uneven weight rolling to the left at a lazy, clunking pace before it stops just before the cabinets. I jerk my knee up, catching her stomach, but she just giggles that insane, demented laugh, eyes bright, shiny like beetle shells.

"Oh kitten," she hisses into my ear, "You'll have to do much better than that." I try to pull away in disgust, but there's nowhere to go, and struggling only digs more glass into my skin, the scent of blood and tequila mixing in a heady aroma around us. Her snarling, hateful features clouding my entire line of vision.

"You are _so_ going to regret this," I promise her with more certainty than I feel.

"Oh please, haven't you talked enough for one evening?" she asks in cynical disdain, lips puckered sourly, "Bill has always had such _horrible _taste in women," she adds to herself in disappointment, shrugging and adding in a thoughtful, shudder inducing way, "although, with a little obedience training, you could almost be salvageable." A thoughtful smirk cuts across her lips, I cringe, my mind working over what vampires would consider 'obedience training', my body cut up something awful, stealing the adrenaline high I'd been riding and making me feel battered and sore, but I know if I don't find a way out of this, no one else will for me.

"What's taking so long?" comes Bill's gruff demand, and I fight a sudden surge of violent loathing, for both of them. It's an irrepressible, snarling sort of loathing that feels like acid beneath my skin, boiling painfully in seething disgust for two such depraved, sadistic people.

"Just tenderizing the meat," Leila croons in sadistic glee, her deceptively petite frame grinding me further against the glass littered floor and causing me to hiss in pain, unwilling tears gathering in my eyes. The scent of blood sharpens in the air. Her fangs snap down, eyes hard and flinty as she grabs the collar of my uniform, adding to me callously, "Come on human, we've got someone for you to meet, and you'll just _love_ her."

-*-**ERIC'S POV**-*-

I don't usually glamour women into fucking me, but then again, I don't usually have to. It's not like I was actually _going_ to fuck her, I rationalized, after all, what I distinctly commanded was for her to beg me for it, I never said I would oblige her. Okay, well… It may have crossed my mind, but in the end, I would've made sure she was willing. I'm a bastard, but I do have standards, and contrary to one Miss Sookie Stackhouse's beliefs, morals and honor as well. It's just not so readily apparent to most people, I don't understand why.

You'd think someone who's lived as long as I have would have more patience, but sadly, I'm self indulgent at heart. After a few centuries, you get bored of the repetition, and while Miss Stackhouse may in fact, be unique, and bantering with her was rather enjoyable, I knew that if I intended to fulfill my duties before sunrise, as well as contact the Queen to verify Bill's intriguing, and obviously incomplete story, I would have to rush things with the delectable human in my office. Shame that I don't think Miss Stackhouse would quite understand that if I explained it to her, but no matter, I've heard from Pam that I can be convincingly apologetic when I try.

After Sookie fled my office, and I finished realizing I could've possibly handled that better, I ordered Pam to keep an eye on things while I made my phone call to the Queen and in an annoyed tone left a message on her blasted machine. After that, it was just a matter of waiting. Sophie-Anne puts in a effort to appear busy, but one can only tolerate so many board games before her innate curiosity would kick in, forcing her to return my call. In the mean time, I went back to brooding in my club, it passes the time, and the humans seem to love it, besides, I had a curvy, doe-eyed waitress to fantasize about, whenever watching the Fangers and vampires' games of cat and mouse become too tedious to bear.

When the Queen did return my call, later than I anticipated, nearly at sunrise, I discovered more than I cared to. Apparently, she wanted Sookie for something, and she was using Compton to secure the girl for whatever purpose she had in store, on that account she'd been purposely vague, but almost eager to report that her favorite fetching boy was having little to no luck with the mortal girl. She'd been hopeful that he was making firm progress given his more recent reports, but he'd called in earlier that night to relay that he feared Sookie was going to be more difficult than he'd originally expected, his suggestion was that the Queen allow him to bring the human in to her Manor, thereby forcing her reliance on him to deepen.

Sophie-Anne does love a good drama, and she was all for the act, her playing the evil vampire Queen while Compton made a good show of sticking up for Sookie, protecting her, it was all so very like them I could only roll my eyes. Childish games, silly deceit, for most humans it would probably work, but I liked to believe that in my brief acquaintance with Miss Stackhouse I'd learned she was not so easy to fool, or so stupid to fall for such a transparent stunt.

Still, having Compton take her to Sophie-Anne when I was just beginning to get acquainted with Miss Stackhouse didn't suite me at all. If it worked, he'd ruin her, and if it didn't, Sophie-Anne assuredly would. It seemed like such a waste. So I informed the Queen that while Compton may be a incapable of handling one single human woman, I myself felt she could be convinced, willingly, to aide us, without the use of something so plebian as brute force, after all, we vampires were all supposed to be on our best behavior at the moment, what with the vampire rights movement still playing a political see-saw in the legal forum. As I'd hoped, Sophie-Anne saw the logic in my line of thinking, although she pouted a bit at not being able to collect her prize immediately, I soothed her with a promise of an introduction before the month's end, and in return she told me she'd leave the rest to my capable hands, including Compton. Sometimes she's immensely simple to please.

Pam thought it was funny that I went through so much trouble for one human brat, as she calls Sookie, although I don't miss the near affection in her tone as she does. I just smirk, because while Pam is undeniably perceptive, on occasion, she can be very blind to natural appeal. She prefers her women aggressive in the bedroom but silent outside of it, which has its merits, I'll admit, but if I just wanted someone to fuck and discard I would've kept that little blonde tart who offered herself to me in the club earlier. I, however, like a challenge. Sookie would be someone, I was near certain, who would keep me interested, she was sassy, beautiful, and elusively innocent. Glamoured or not, when I ask a woman to get naked, she usually doesn't argue, and her reluctance in itself was appealing, in a refreshing sort of way.

I didn't, however, count on Bill being so undeniably foolish as to disobey a direct order from his Sheriff. He's always been a bit thick, but usually very loyal, I can't say it bothered me terribly that I would be delivering him to Sophie-Anne for punishment, in fact, I thought it was pretty funny that he was being so blatantly stupid. It would make my part that much easier, and so I didn't even mind that I would likely lose another thousand or so dollars to Pam's newest shoe shopping spree, as she announced she'd been correct in assuming how far the dark haired vampire would go in his efforts to ensure he got to Sookie before any other could. If Compton wanted to play hard ball, I was only too happy to oblige him. Perhaps in the midst of his foolish blunder, Sookie would realize what his true intentions were, and how truthful I was being when I told her she was worth more than someone like that incompetent waste of fangs.

I considered driving the Corvette, but given what Pam had relayed, that Bill had already arrived at Sookie's place of employment with a unknown vampire in tow, as he'd previously plotted the night before with Sophie-Anne, I knew that the car, while my first choice, would not be fast enough to reach the distance of Bon Temps should Compton decide to do something rash, like panic and flee. It seemed like something appropriately cowardly and foolish, something that his type would do. I may not know the vampire very well on a personal level, but a millennia or so of living teaches a person how to spot innate weakness of character, and Compton practically oozed it, sniveling errand boy that he is.

Flying is definitely a perk of being dead, taking to the skies, watching the Earth reel beneath you like ripples in running water, meshes of green, brown, trees, people, houses, and finally the sleek, snake-like curve of roads, like spilled ink on the Louisiana terrain, illuminated only by the moonlight's glow. In truth, I had never been to Bon Temp's before, I'd never had a reason to, but I'd researched Sookie Stackhouse on the internet, thanks to the new lap top Pam bought me to play with, which I think personally is a grand invention, and found not only her place of employment, but her home address and phone number as well. Most of my kind sees little point in keeping with the modern era, especially at my age, but this technology business is very convenient, it saves so much time that I would've otherwise had to waste tracking and guessing, and I am growing rather fond of it. Besides, it's always good to have an advantage that people wouldn't immediately expect of you.

And that is how I came to land before Merlotte's Bar and Grille, my senses suddenly full of a number of alarming scents and sounds. I feel my lips pull from my teeth as I hear Sookie's pained whimper from within the tiny establishment, the smell of her blood, because it smells so sweet, so delectable, and not unlike her skin did the night before, there is no doubt in my mind it's hers, permeates the air in a tantalizing aroma. My fists clench as I attune to the voice of Bill Compton and a young, female vampire arguing like spoiled children over my rightful prey, my mind hazing in a wash of anger that is so unlike my usually collected, removed self I don't know how to fully process it. So I don't bother trying, instead, I use it.

I ignore the angry, sputtering shifter demanding why I'm in his hovel of an establishment, dismissing him as irrelevant as I catch sight of the injured female in his lap. If he was capable of intervening successfully, he would've done so by now. My eyes are all for the bleeding, disheveled Miss Stackhouse, soaked in what smells like liquor and blood, her back a mesh of angry scratches that not even her ingested vampire blood can heal quickly enough to spare her the pain of, and her eyes fearful where she stands restrained by the amusingly small vampire who was just about to drag her from the bar.

After assessing that she isn't irreparably harmed, luckily enough for Compton, I turn my eyes on the now shocked looking vampire gaping at me stupidly, "If you're smart," I inform her in a mockingly pleasant tone, "you will give her to me before I take her from you."

"And who the fuck are you?" the mouthy girl spits. I feel my eyes narrow, watching in satisfaction as she grows slightly wary of me.

"Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area Five," my low, careful tone and my title is cause enough for her to finally release Sookie, who, to my immense pleasure, stumbles towards me, looking relieved. I eye her in mute amusement, her attitude towards me having improved greatly it seems since our last interaction, despite the fact that I haven't seen or spoken to her since.

"You got here fast," she remarks, eyeing me in wonder, her blonde hair plastered to her tanned skin, eyelashes spiky with liquor, white t-shirt suctioned to her toned body. I decide that she looks very attractive all shell shocked and bloody, even if it's not a state she's likely comfortable in. Wondering how she'll react, I grin at her and reply dryly,

"I flew," my eyebrow rising, as if daring her to make what she will of that statement, and smirking as her expression clouds with consideration and finally, disbelief. Lightly closing her slightly ajar mouth, I turn to Compton, dislike etched on my features. "I see your masterful plan went as well as I predicted," I eye him in consideration, for the first time noticing he too is covered in alcohol and glass, "although I distinctly recall telling you something around the lines of, and I quote," for emphasis I use my vampiric speed to appear directly before his sullen profile, he glares up at me, "Don't you fucking dare."

"You were being unreasonable," he grits, brows furrowing as he clenches his teeth at me, "Sookie will not become yours just because I am out of the picture, no matter how you've manipulated the Queen into thinking it is so." I draw up to my full height, expression stony as I eye the petulant vampire before me.

"Let's ask her, shall we?" Is my monotone suggestion, "Sookie, darling?" I cock my head back at her, smirking at her cute little scowl, "Do you want to go with Mr. Compton here?" She chews her lip, glaring at me.

"No," she admits at last, sounded unhappy about it, but if someone had just tried to kidnap me, I'd be irritable too. Her eyes flick behind me, to the vampire at my back, "I don't." She emphasizes with a fierce glare.

"Good girl," I turn back to Compton as she huffs at my arrogant comment, "See? She doesn't like you very much anymore, not that I blame her," I give him a mocking smile, flashing my distended fangs, "And as for her being mine, unlike some, I feel comfortable enough with my powers of persuasion that I don't see the need to resort to brute force. Sookie will admit her desire for me when she wishes to, until then, I am content to wait." I hear a female snort of indignation behind me and fight a twitch of my lips, stubborn wench; damn she's going to be fun.

"Sookie would never care for someone like you," Bill snarls in affront, "You may have misled the Queen into believing she feels for you, but when you fail to convince her, she will ask me to step in again, and I will have Sookie once more as my own." He eyes me with a glint of determination, his demeanor tense but still annoyingly confident.

"Careful Compton," my temper flairs at his daring, "you forget your place." He stiffens, features tensing in defiant rage as he glares at me.

"You had no right to interfere," he seethes, his southern accent thick, blue eyes fierce from beneath his dripping hair, "I will not stand by and allow you to monopolize on my efforts, you do not even know what she is capable of."

Ignoring his implied taunt, I raise an eyebrow at him, "Do _you_?" I demand, cocking my head at him and smirking. He growls, sneering at me, I shall enjoy very much telling Sophie-Anne how uppity her errand boy has gotten, how disgustingly disloyal he has been. He needs to be reminded of the pecking order, and I am willing to bet Sophie-Anne will enjoy the diversion of doing so.

"I know more about her than you do," he replies stubbornly, jutting his chin up a notch, "I have spent time with Sookie, and her family," he informs me, emphasizing each word pointedly, "I have taken great care to ensure no harm befalls her, and I will continue to do so once she is in Sophie-Anne's possession." At this, I cannot hide my disbelief.

"I see… and this is how you take care of her?" I ask mildly, eyeing the shattered bottles on the bar floor, the impassive female vampire watching our exchange, and finally the exhausted and weary looking Sookie, who is eyeing us both in suspicion and dislike. Suddenly I realize Compton's ploy. It seems Bill is not so much attempting to reason with me, as sow the seeds of doubt in Sookie's mind as to my intentions, ensuring she will not trust me, in the hope that he can get the second chance he seems so certain the Queen will give him should I fail. Given his behavior tonight, I would not be so sure of that if I was him. As for Sookie, I will explain to her what I can once I've dealt with Compton, and try to convince her to make the best choice, which I happen to think is obviously myself.

"It's better than how you treat the humans in your club," Compton retorts acidly. I've had quite enough of his disrespectful remarks. My hand closes on his throat, lifting him from the ground to make my point as I utter quietly, dangerously, into his now apprehensive features,

"And the humans you bring to the Queen? How do they fair?" As his eyes drop to the floor, a scowl on his mouth, I continue, increasing pressure on his throat as he dangles vulnerably, "No one who enters my club willingly suffers unless they wish to, Compton; can one say the same of the girls you bring to the manor?" I shake him a bit, amused as he flails in my grip, powerless for all his bravado, "No, I didn't think so," I finish, releasing him with a sneer, he disgusts me. His justifying this mess is just further proof as to how out of line he's gotten, so much for the meek, mainstreaming vampire he pretended to be last night, apparently that was just a farce.

"If you come near Sookie again," I add, eyes boring into him hostilely, "I won't bother having you escorted to Her, I will simply handle the discipline myself, are we clear?" He sneers, turning his head away as he grits out a reluctant,

"Yes."

"Good," I snap, "because I do so hate having to repeat myself." I turn, eyeing the vampire Compton managed to talk into this, she can't be more than a century old, and my lip curls, "Do you have anything you'd like to add?" I ask, eyeing her scornfully. She shrugs and then sighs.

"I suppose this means I'm not getting paid," she complains, glaring at Compton aggrievedly before turning back to me, "That bitch ruined my outfit, I've wasted half my night, just to find out this is all bullshit." She crosses her arms, huffing, "Fucking bullshit." While her verbal skills leave something wanting, I suddenly thought up a use for the pouty mouthed brat before me. My lips curved in satisfaction, because I knew Compton will not enjoy what I have in mind, which makes the idea all the more appealing.

"You're in luck," I tell her amiably, gaining her interest, "I'd be happy to compensate you for your time, provided you're willing to finish the job." Her black eyebrows rise into her choppy hair cut, making her look comically surprised, "Of course, the cargo might prove to be more difficult," I eye Compton speculatively, "so I'm willing to discuss a small increase in fee."

Catching on, the female vampire smirks at me, "I see, well, if he damages my truck, we'll talk, but I think I can handle him, in fact," she shoots the vampire in question a disdainful look, "it'd be my pleasure, Sheriff."

"Good," I pat her head, she looks like a cocker spaniel to me, "Don't take too long, Sophie-Anne is expecting his presence at her manor by sunrise." I warn, I don't want Bill being 'lost' along the way, after tonight, I almost want to call Pam and have her do it, just to ensure it gets done right. It seems Compton is full of unpleasant surprises when it comes to Sookie Stackhouse. The small vampire nods, cracking her knuckles and eyeing Bill in haughty determination.

"Well, are you coming willingly?" She enquires, seemingly unbothered if he decides not to. After a moment of tense silence he decides to go without a fight, which is a shame, because watching Mighty Mouse here kick his ass would've been amusing. This leaves me free to turn to the human I've put all this effort in for, leaning against the bar and looking worn out, and to my disappointment, smelling more like a brewery than a meal, which should be a crime given how good she usually smells.

I tense as I sense a shifting behind me, lips pulling in a snarl as Bill, who seemed to be cooperating, appears before my prize, his eyes pinned onto hers in a way that makes me want to gouge them from his fucking skull. Sookie, darling girl that she is, looks no more pleased by this development than I am, and perhaps that's why I don't immediately drag him off, I wait, watching them interact curiously, sensing with some satisfaction the drastic change in their regard of one another. There is no affection in Sookie's caramel eyes, nor her stance. She is stiff, defensive, decidedly on edge with Compton so close.

"This is not over," he promises her after too long a moment, earning a low, warning growl from myself. I will show him _over_. He is lucky Sophie-Anne favors him so, or I would bring him to the Magister for the insolence he's displayed tonight, in our society, disobedient vampires have a very short life expectancy, there is no tolerance for those who refuse to submit to the Authority. By all rights, he should be silvered and buried, see if perhaps torturous agony puts his priorities into a clearer perspective, but for now I'll see what the Queen decides, and if he doesn't learn from that, I'll personally teach him a lesson I guarantee he will not soon forget.

"Oh, Bill Compton, you have no idea how over this is," she snaps at him, sass and fire, hands on her delectable hips. Her glare is pure rage, "You come by me again and I'll-"

"He will not always be around to save you Sookie," Bill cuts her off, his voice rough and predatory, "Keep that in mind." She stiffens, her face screwing up into an impressive scowl, but I can hear the worried hammer of her heart, his words have struck home. I would have interfered, was quite intent on it actually, but the tiny vampire beat me to the punch, quite literally. Compton's head snapped back as her tiny fist busted his mouth, her foot jerking behind his heel, sending him sprawling on the glass and alcohol littered floor.

"He talks too much," she comments in disgust, licking his blood from her knuckles and kicking him in the ribs, despite her size, she is in fact older than Compton, by a decade or so, and therefore stronger, he crumples against her blows as she seems to vent some suppressed frustration onto his abdomen. Her growls and Bill's muffled grunts fill the room for a moment, before she yanks him up by his hair, pulling his face towards a both disgusted and curious Sookie, who watches them interact in grim fascination.

"Now say bye-bye," the vampire instructs Bill with vindictive amusement, her tone smug, "You know as well as I do you won't be roaming freely for some time, Billy-Boy," she pats his cheek condescendingly, glancing up at Sookie, who seems wary of her, slightly, "By the way, about earlier, it wasn't anything personal, just business," she tells her, smirking, "you understand, right?" Her head cocks, eyeing Sookie in interest.

"I think you need therapy," is Sookie's edgy comment, her lips pursed thoughtfully. The vampire girl laughs, throwing back her head and baring her tiny throat as the giggles bubble from her mouth.

"Oh honey, you've got no idea," she agrees, black eyes dancing with mirth, she turns to her captive with a disdainful lip curl, "Come on, on your feet Compton, you've wasted enough of my time." I watch in mild amusement as the four foot vampire drags the esteemed Mr. Compton from the bar by his hair, banging his head _accidentally_ as she does against any available surface in her path. I think she and Pam would likely get along swimmingly.

As soon as she and Compton disappear through the bar's doors, Sookie crumples onto the counter she was leaning against for support, the adrenaline that has gotten her through this evening dissipating without the presence of her would-be kidnappers to keep her alert and on edge. Even battered and weary she is a sight to appreciate, her shoulders shaking with pain and exhaustion, eyes heavily shadowed and worn, hair a tangled, wet mess, I cannot help but still see her appeal, the strength she must have in that tiny, vulnerable body to have fended off two determined vampires until my arrival. Her chest heaves against the nearly sheer material of her work uniform, her name tag ripped and half hanging from the left side, hands shaking slightly as she pulls her damp hair from her face, trying to keep her legs from buckling in relief as she surveys me with an indiscernible expression. Eyes like honey, warm and light, rove me, and I see the appreciation there for my physique, her stare lingering on the outfit I selected for our intended meeting tonight, but mostly, she seems tired, apprehensive.

"Thanks," she says at last, quietly, almost shyly. I smirk, fully intending to collect more than a word of gratitude from her tonight, but for now, that will suffice. I hear the grind of tires on gravel, the V8 engine of a police cruiser as red and blue lights flash through the windows. Sookie eyes the human Sherriff's car grimly, mouth dissatisfied as she comments blithely, "Now they show up." I eye her curiously, wondering if she truly believes her human authority would have stopped Compton and his accomplice.

"I uh…" a male human bashfully emerges, pausing mid-speech to gape at the chaos of the fight that occurred minutes before, "Shit." He says empathetically, before turning to Sookie and adding, "I called Sheriff Dearborn, is Tara okay?" He eyes her worriedly, then the blood, the mess, before his eyes get stuck on a larger smear of drying blood on the floor, his throat working hard to swallow.

"She's fine," an angry, petulant voice answers, the shifter stands with the injured human in his arms, protective, possessive, "No thanks to you." He adds, shooting me a dark look. Stupid mutt, did he not just see me save the day, rather heroically I might add? Ungrateful idiot, my eyes narrow as I catch sight of the long, lingering glance he shoots Miss Stackhouse, before eyeing me in speculation, sizing me up. As if I would feel threatened by an incompetent mutt like him. I bear my teeth while Sookie's attention is otherwise occupied, I will not be challenged, and certainly not by some shifter who cannot even protect his own.

"Eric just saved our lives," Sookie tells him, indignant, eyeing him warningly before turning to the panting human who just announced that he had called the police, "Terry, honey, go outside," she talks to him calmly, soothingly, and I notice the dilation of his pupils as he stands gasping for breath and staring unseeingly at the blood coating the floor, "Come on," she coaxes gently, hesitantly taking his arm, the man flinches, eyeing her like a small, scared child, "It's okay, you're fine, everyone's alright," she murmurs soothingly, his head bobs too violently, and she begins guiding him gently from the blood and glass, softly whispering, "It's over Terry, you did good."

"I should've…" The human chokes out, shivering and shaking as she ushers him towards the door, she hushes him, patting his back.

"Terry, there was nothing you could do," she assures him, and he eyes her with wide, hurt eyes as they stand before the front door, his pupils pinpricks and his skin beginning to sweat slightly.

"But I'm supposed to protect everyone, I'm supposed to," he insists, a slightly glazed look to him, I've seen the signs of post-traumatic stress too many times not to recognize it. The man is broken, shell shocked. I've fought enough wars, seen much the same before in the human soldiers that come and go too quickly. She pats his hand, forcing him to meet her sincere, concerned eyes.

"You did," she tells him firmly, "You called the police, now Tara will get to the hospital more quickly, you did very well." She pecks his cheek, a swift, platonic kiss, and even though I know, logically, there is no lust between them; I have to clench my hands to keep from pulling her away from the now slightly reddened man.

I decide immediately I don't like her kissing other men, human, vampire or otherwise, even platonically, not before she's even kissed me properly, and even then I still don't think there is any need for her lips to touch anyone but me. My kind is not known for sharing well, or easily, which presents quite a problem, seeing as Sookie has not yet agreed to be mine. And yet, I know myself well enough to admit, that to me, it feels to me as if she already is. I can't tolerate the thought of her deciding not to be, even though I'm intelligent enough to know forcing the issue will not bring about the desired outcome.

"I think you've done enough here," the shifter growls as soon as Sookie slips through the door, walking to meet the police, her stride forcibly confident despite the pain and weariness I know she must be feeling. I turn towards the glaring pup slowly, eyeing him up and down as he'd done with me.

"At least," I retort, "I was able to do something, shifter," I growl the last in disgust, "I did not see you rushing to save the day." His face purples in rage as he glares at me.

"Fucking vampires," he curses heatedly, "You realize it's _your_ kind that put her in harm's way?" He demands, "If you think I'm going to stand by and watch another vampire use Sookie, or hurt her, you've got another thing coming. She's a sweet girl, and she doesn't need _this_." His tone is accusatory.

"I agree," I hiss lowly, "She does not need useless, cowardly fools slowing her down," I eye him with malice, "Keep that in mind, mutt, if you intend to step in my way." He jerks back, snarling, the human he still holds moans in pain in his grip, his jostling her has upset her even though she remains unconscious. "You better tend to that," I comment indifferently, done bickering with someone so obviously beneath me.

"Stay away from Sookie," he demands as I reach the door, my hand grips the handle so hard I feel the metal give way to the imprint of my flesh. My eyes bled hostility as I eye him over my shoulder, fangs exposed.

"You don't give me orders," I inform him softly, "Do not make the mistake of believing you will dictate what I, or Miss Stackhouse, will do." He opens his mouth, likely to retort with more of his ignorant jealousy, but I step outside, stealing the chance from him, inhaling the night air in appreciation. It smells so much better than fetid alcohol, fried human food, and dog-shifter, none of which I find particularly appealing.

I approach Sookie, where she stands explaining a modified version of what has occurred in Merlotte's Bar and Grille as the elderly human sheriff eyes her in skepticism, his burly partner giving her a flat look of uneasy dislike. Terry, the human she kissed, is leaning against a pick-up truck, looking much less pale than he did when he was panicking, I ignore him forcibly, reminding myself it's not his fault I wish to rip his throat out, it's just my nature.

"I _told_ you, Bill went crazy," she huffs, "Do you not see my back?" The Sheriff grunts under his breath, eyeing her in mute disappointment.

"Well, Sookie," he hedges, "We did tell you not to get involved with that vampire," he eyes the bar in dismay, "now look what's happened." I watch in interest as Sookie's cheeks flush red in anger.

"Excuse me," I interject, placing a hand on Sookie's arm, glad to finally touch her, the two human males eye in me in terror, I have that effect on people. "My name is Eric Northman, is there any assistance I might provide?"

"A vampire," the bulky human officer states, looking pleased with himself for deducing that all on his own. "My name's Detective Bellefleur," he holds out his stubby hand, and I obliging shake it, smirking as he winces at the pressure of my grip, "I take it you're the vampire Sookie was talking bout, the one that got Vampire Bill to leave?" My lips twist at the way he says 'Vampire Bill', almost like a title.

"Seems to me," the elderly sheriff interjects, "that you vampires are just crawling all over Bon Temps recently," he eyes me in suspicion, "just about the same time girls started showing up dead. Now, what do you make of that?" I eye him coolly, sensing a fear in him most elderly humans have of our kind, an innate dislike of my species, his eyes are seething with distrust and suspicion, unlike his deputy, who seems rather ambivalent to me being undead. Old humans are so set in their ways, statistics show they are the least acceptant of our open presence in human society, they think us spawns of the devil, or some such atrocious misconstruction of character.

"As I just arrived in your town this evening, I doubt I could provide much insight on that point," I reply dryly, "But I could suggest, that perhaps you would like to consider carefully _who_ you are speaking to when you make such accusations." I lean in a bit, eyes hard, letting him catch glimpse of my fangs from between my pleasantly smiling lips; he takes a precautionary step backwards.

"Eric!" Sookie whispers in reprimand, catching the irritated, nearly threatening note in my tone, and probably seeing the same fear and trepidation I spot in the officer's eyes. I glance at her from the corner of my gaze, rubbing my finger across the hallow of her wrist. I have not released it since approaching, and she startles a bit as the gentle contact, causing me to smirk as she flushes a bit, soothing my anger, for now.

"I apologize officer," pretending to be contrite comes naturally to me; vampire politics requires the act frequently, "It has been a trying night." He nods slowly, still a little terrified judging by the pallor of his skin and wideness of his eyes.

"That's alright," the tiny man says after a moment, turning from me with some difficulty to focus on the girl at my side with worry, "Now Sookie, we should get you to a doctor; your Gran's going to be in a right state when news of this reaches her." His tone is almost parental in disapproval.

"Tara needs an ambulance," Sookie insists, "I'm fine," at the disbelieving glances of the two uniformed officers she straightens herself further, looking stubborn, "Eric can drive me to a doctor," I arch a eyebrow teasingly at her assumption, I'd much rather _play_ doctor than drive her to one, but I'll keep that thought to myself for the time being.

"Well, we're going to need a statement at the station," the Sheriff hedges, eyeing me warily. It's obvious he does not like the idea of me seeing her home, he would much prefer Sookie left her need for care to the humans. His concern, while perhaps warranted given the fact that the town's only vampire resident has turned out to be less than an upstanding citizen, is unnecessary. My healing of Sookie will be far less painful than human physicians could possibly make it, even with their drugs and IVs, and I will not tolerate many more interferences when it comes to getting her removed from this place and the glass removed from the cuts on her skin. With vampire blood in her, she will be in much more pain should the wounds begin to re-heal with shards still inside them, I do not intend to let them continue stalling us for long.

Perhaps sensing my impatience, Sookie huffs at them, "I think that can wait until morning, don't you?" She eyes him sternly, "I've given you a statement here, and if you need me to come in to the station tomorrow morning I'd be more than happy to oblige you." Her tone is sweet as sugar, but the finality in it is not to be misinterpreted.

"You make sure to call your Gran," the Sherriff insists, "I'll be ringing you in the morning after we've taken Sam and Tara's statements, you can expect that." He eyes me skeptically, "I don't suppose you would like to make a statement Mr.?"

"Northman," his detective supplies, proving he at least has a memory. He gives me a small, gruff nod, "We'll be in touch." I nod, planning to have Pamela handle their questions, she's good at it and I have no tolerance for being interrogated, especially by humans. She's sat proxy in my stead enough times in similar matters that I doubt it will cause much issue, I hand the detective my Fangtasia card, watching with some amusement as his eyebrows wing upward. He nods at me and pockets it, eyes drifting to where the shifter is seeing the unconscious human into the ambulance vehicle that has arrived during our debate.

"If that's all," I conclude, "I will be taking Miss Stackhouse to the doctor's," more like my place, I correct inwardly, "Come along Sookie." She gives me a look at being told what to do, but in the end just shakes her head, smiling to herself as we walk away from the frowning policemen. She grins up at me, her fingers tightening against my own where I loosely hold her hand.

"Are we really going to a doctor's?" She asks, playfully, smirking at me. I give her a look, arching my eyebrow.

"Actually, I have a much more pleasurable idea," I tell her, watching with fascination as this provokes a dizzying display of emotions over her profile, first amusement, then puzzlement, and finally worry. I tip her chin up as she tries to duck away from my probing gaze, "You still fear me?" I ask, puzzled, because I thought we'd gotten over that, seeing as I'd just saved her, and she seemed to be reacting far more pleasantly to my presence.

"No," she insists, giving me a stern look as we pause beside a dreadful, yellow car that I truly hope is not hers, "You never scared me," she asserts confidently, earning a skeptical glance from myself, I'm not sure if I believe that, even if I do like the sound of it, "I just don't trust your libido," she sniffs, "and I'm in no condition for whatever 'pleasurable' thing you're planning, so get your blond head out of the gutter Mr. Northman." Cheeky little…

"But Sookie," I growl, catching her other wrist and tugging her between me and the ghastly yellow vehicle, I peer down at her in interest, seeing the way her breath catches, and her pupils widen, I dip so my lips brush her ear, smirking as she bites her firm little lip at the nearly chaste contact, "When you are around, I can't think of anything else," I let my eyes heat, showing her how much I want her, even covered in blood and liquor and utterly wrecked she is gorgeous to me, I won't push my luck tonight, but I expect her to face the fact that I desire her, entirely, and do not intend to be told how and when I can express said desire.

"Incorrigible," she sighs, rolling her eyes at me with a smirk, "Think you can manage to act like a gentlemen while escorting me home, or should I call my brother?" I frown.

"Firstly," I inform her commandingly, "I'm not a gentle _man_ at all," my smirk is pure devil, she best learn that about me now, "and secondly, you're not going home." She opens her mouth, and I press a finger to her lips, "I will take you to Fangtasia to see to your wounds, and then, we will discuss where you shall sleep." Her scowl is cute, exasperated despite the fact she is clearly fighting an indulgent smile, as she puts a petite hand on her hips and sighs at me.

"I'm sleeping in my _own_ bed, _alone_," she insists stubbornly, wincing at some perceived pain her movement has caused; she bites her lip, pain clouding her eyes. Not bothering to listen to her rather pointless arguments, seeing as I know I will win anyway, I spin her around so her front faces away from me, eyeing her injured back grimly, it's as I feared, her wounds have begun to heal, and the glass has not been properly removed. She tries to turn back around, but I keep her still, growling warningly, and she finally stays put.

"These need tending to, now," I tell her, face composed even as I fight a fresh wave of rage for Compton, the prick, "You can sleep wherever you please," I give in, hoping she'll _please_ to be in my bed tonight, but not entirely certain on that account, "but you will accompany me to Fangtasia, now, we cannot delay your treatment any longer."

"Okay," she agrees, seemingly shy again, she eyes the parking lot, fishing her keys from the apron at her waist, "I'll drive." My face pulls into a distinctly displeased expression as she injects the key into the small, yellow car, a vehicle so compact I shudder to think how a person my size is expected to fit into such a contraption. I still her hand, twisting the keys from her grip and grinning at her put-out expression.

"That car is hideous," I tell her, smirking as she scowls, "I refuse to subject myself to it, we will fly." Her mouth opens slightly, brow furrowing.

"You were _serious_?" she demands, aghast. I chuckle, grabbing her with my vampiric speed, careful not to agitate her injuries, and wrapping her arms around my neck as I grin down at her in delight. We're some distance away from her car, nearer to the forest and well hidden from prying eyes. I think I could learn to quite enjoy the wondering, affectionate look she gives me, eyes wide as saucers, filled with awe and something innocent and trusting that's rarely found in people these days.

"Dead serious," I assure her with a teasing smile, "now hold on, I'd hate to drop you." She glances at me fearfully at that, and I chuckle again, humans are so easy to rile, before propelling us both from the Merlotte's parking lot and into the sky.

A/N: Is it bad that I laughed until I cried when I wrote that last paragraph? I amuse myself. Or, more accurately, my muse's version of Eric amuses me, I just wish I could have said sexy blonde Viking in a more solid, touchable form *sigh* but don't we all? LOL


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Did you miss me? Did you think I was dead? Not nearly. Thank you to all my fans, I obviously don't deserve you, procrastinating lazy bum of a writer that I am, and so I will give you an apology in the form of an update, in a not-so-subtle ploy to bribe you into reviewing LOL.

**DEAD FROM THE BEGINNING **

**By**: Demon Tsunami

**Chapter Three**: I've been Low-Jacked by Vampire GPS

"Was it entirely necessary to grab my butt the entire time?" I ask Eric the second my strappy sandals land firmly on solid ground, and I feel like I can finally breathe well enough to berate him. His bad boy smirk is enough of a reply, and even though I'm all sorts of sore, tired, and upset from the events of my night, I still appreciate the attempt at light humor. Even if it's a bit more crude than what I'm used to.

"Where are we?" Is my awed, under the breath question as I gape dumbly at the large three story mansion sticking out of the neatly trimmed lawn like a glowing white beacon. When we were flying I could tell that we were headed towards Shreveport, and so I automatically assumed we'd land in the middle of the vampire bar parking lot, but this isn't Fangtasia. Unless they've done some seriously remodeling, and I don't think even vampires can renovate that fast, and if they can, I know who I'm hiring to paint Gran's and my house this summer.

Eric takes my hand without a word, strutting towards the front door like a king returning to his castle after a conquest. My expression is chalk full of annoyance at having my question ignored, but he pretends not to notice as he pulls me along beside him, his grip firmly ensnared around my hand. Possessive, showing all the world that he and I are together, or at least, displaying his claim for the bulky beefcake standing on his porch and wearing an expression like he's been sucking on lemons for so long his face is stuck being bitter. To me, he sort of looks like the lumber jack on the brand of paper towel rolls my Gran is always buying, what with his thick chocolate colored hair and brash, whisker dusted features. Bulky forearms colored a dark tan with sun and a classic red plaid t-shirt and jean combo complete the Brawny Man look-alike contestant. He gives Eric a glare of that reeks of trampled on testosterone, before peering at me in pity and disgust. I stiffen, not particularly feeling friendly towards either sentiment.

"I've done everything you asked," the man utters, his voice exuding the quality of a muscle car's engine, all low growls and vibrations. His eyes seem like they're doing everything in their power not to stare at me, but I can sense him flickering his attention to the corner of his eyes, taking me in.

"Good dog," the vampire beside me is all sorts of mocking, "You may go home now." Eric's taunting hand wave would probably set even the most even tempered of men on edge, and I'm not sure that this guy would fit that description by far. With a gruff grunt that sounds somewhere between phlegm being cleared from the back of his throat and the most manly manner of disgust possible, the balky man stomps off the porch, his boots clunking every smacking step of his irritation in wordless farewell.

Eric is non-pulsed, which makes sense if you think about it. His cool blue eyes, the color of tap water in sunlight, sparkle at me like a little boy's as he offers me his arm, "Shall we?" Maybe its better not to point out how outdated his gesture is, especially since I'm not sure I don't like it, especially on him. Why did men ever stop acting like gentlemen anyway? It seems a waste to have discarded all that chivalry and manners for XBOX and Internet pornography.

"Is this your house?" My arm hesitates as I second guess myself, hovering over his larger forearm but not touching.

"One of them," he admits at last, giving up only the sparest scraps of himself. I like a man with mystery, or I think I do, since the concept's still pretty foreign to me on a whole, being born a telepath and all, but Eric skips right over mysterious and lands smack dab on flat out cryptic, and that's not nearly as charming as he seems to think it is.

"Bragging, Eric?" His first name still feels funny on my tongue, too intimate as it runs across my vocal cords and forms on my lips. The blond vampire chuckles, and that sound, whoa, well, somebody should bottle that sound and sell it as a aphrodisiac, the way it crawls across my skin and nestles deep inside all the girlie-st parts me, all warm and liquid-y and filled with a dangerous humor that makes it that much more enticing. His skin is cool under my heated flesh as he pulls open the beautiful gold and glass outer door, and the heavier dark blue painted one behind it, issuing us both into the cool circulated air of his ridiculous mansion. Mansion, throne...there was a definite theme to Eric's tastes, as in big, splashy, and chalk full of ego.

My arm leaves his almost absentminded-ly as I take a good look around, craning my neck in circles without even a shred of repentance towards my eager curiosity. There definitely isn't a structure like this one in Bon Temps, what with the stone fountain I saw glittering in the front yard ostentatiously, and the crystal tear drop chandelier that's hanging above the entry way entry way we're in, throwing rainbows of light all through the tiny space. To my left is a opulently furnished living room filled with leather sofas, stately antique furniture that gleams with painstaking care, and a enormous glossy plasma screen TV that hangs on the cream colored wall looking costly and unused. At least the decor in his house is more tasteful than the cheesy style of his nightclub. Part of me half expected to walk into the vampiric version of the Adam's Family mansion, I'm not sure what that entails, exactly, but none of my fearful imaginings included this tasteful mismatch of modern and ancient ambiance, a feeling about the space, and the things inside, that would serve as a near perfect analogy for the vampire himself. Looking at the squalor Bill lives in, though, it's easy to see why I might have expected the worst.

"Not what you expected?" Eric guesses, leading me through the living room and into the pristine looking kitchen. Of course, since the only thing vampires eat doesn't exactly fit into the fridge (not counting True Blood that is, which I sort of doubt Eric drinks frequently) I suppose there's no reason for him to have the normal collection of cooking appliances and amenities that we lil' ol' humans tend to take for granted as necessities. Instead of the basics, the kitchen is designed mostly for style. A large breakfast bar wraps around the rectangular space, flowing like a gleaming black snake, the body of it all shot through with glinting sparks of crackled silver that twinkles in the garish florescent lighting, the bar stools propped up next to it gleaming like metallic beetle shells. Behind the bar, there's one of those new fashioned stoves with the electric heating coils on it instead of the gas burners I'm used to, and a refrigerator that looks like if I opened it, it would be as pretty and clean as the day as it was purchased. No spilled mustard or juice stains in that, no sir. It doesn't even smell like a kitchen should, like food and coffee and fresh baked bread like my Gran's does. Instead, this one smells like disinfectant and lemon pine sole, and maybe beneath all that, something slightly metallic, like aftertaste of old blood.

"I think this is the nicest house I've ever been in," I admit after I've had my fill of gawking, not bothering to care how amused Eric seems by my taking in his home in such a rude manner. There are still a whole lot of unanswered questions nagging at my brain, and the only person I have to give me them is Eric Northman, the most evasive vampire I've ever met, so I've decided to put my usual manners on hold until I can get my curiosity sated.

"I don't allow many people into my home," Eric informs me, crossing his arms and leaning against his own breakfast counter like he's a living, breathing pin-up shot, "You should feel honored."

"Uh-huh," I give him a look that's meant to tell him exactly how honored I feel. "You said something about a doctor?" I remind him sternly, "These cuts aren't exactly going to heal themselves, and I don't think you want me bleeding all over your nice clean floors." I eye the white and black tiled floors in question, they're spotless save for where beaded drops of excess blood and liquor have spilled onto them from my person thanks to my many injuries.

"The blood will wash out," Eric tells me dismissively.

"Know this from experience, do you?" The answer he gives me is in the form of a caustic grin that curls up at his mouth like fire curls paper.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to," is his darkly humored suggestion. Without further ado, Eric plucks me right off the ground as if I weigh as much as a feather, before plopping me, butt first, onto one of the steel stools next to the breakfast bar. My mouth scowls because I was right, the metal stools are very uncomfortable, but also because Mr. Northman seems to think he is suddenly entitled to touch my body in whatever fashion he pleases, which is definitely not the case. I don't like being set anywhere, not even by gorgeous blond vampires who've recently saved my life.

As I watch him, inwardly sulking at his brutish methods, Eric's fangs spring out, causing me to narrow my eyes even further. With a dubious glance at me, he holds his own wrist to his mouth, making me realize that it's not my hide he's planning on sticking those pearly fangs into. Still, I have a pretty good inkling as to what Eric has in mind.

"I'm not drinking your blood," I make sure to tell him my feelings before he takes a nice big, vampire sized chomp on his own wrist. He pauses, narrowing his winter frost blue eyes on me in a annoyed fashion that I don't appreciate.

"The vampire blood in your system is all but gone," Eric's voice is matter-of-fact, leaving no room for my huffing hiss fit in the making, to my utter chagrin, "But it was enough to cause your skin to close around the glass that you were rolling around in. At this point we have two options, I can either reopen your wounds and dig the glass out piece by piece, which I can only assume with be excruciatingly painful for you, or I can give you my blood, and it will force the glass out of your flesh, at which point you will be as good as new."

"I love how you're trying to sound reasonable about this and all, but you're forgetting something: This isn't the first time a vampire's tried to give me his blood in a great big hurry without so much as a short explanation." Eric scowls, and I can tell he's starting to see where I'm going with this. "Weren't you the one who pointed out that I didn't know all the serious side effects of ingesting vampire blood?" I smile up at him sweetly, enjoying his discomfort as he remembers our conversation the night before. It seems that he was all for the idea of full disclosure when it was _Bill's_ blood I was drinking, but not so much now that he's the one trying to be the vampire version of Red Cross. Go figure.

"I remember telling you," He leans over me, letting me feel the sheer size of him, the masculine sexiness dripping from his every pore as his chest presses evenly with the tip of my nose, his arms planting on either side of my petite shoulders, caging me in, making me feel oh so small and human as his handsome face bears down at me like a beautiful demon, "that I would answer your questions for a fee." I crane my neck up, giving him what I hope is a unimpressed look.

"Let me guess, would me drinking your blood be the fee?" I surmise slowly. After a moment of him just leaning over me, and with my suspicions fully aroused, as well as a few other things I will not mention, I demand, "What's in it for you?"

There is definitely something my drinking his blood does for him, and I seriously doubt it has anything to do with sparing me pain. When Bill used his blood to heal me all I thought was to be grateful, on account of the fact that I wasn't dead from being beaten within a inch of my life. On the other hand, I like to think I'm learning a thing or two about dealing with vampires, evolving socially so to speak, and I'm starting to get the fact that where the fanged and undead are concerned, it's foolish to assume any action is taken purely out of the goodness of their hearts.

"When a vampire gives a human their blood, they heal more quickly, as you well know." I nodded impatiently, While a human's senses do become enhanced by the blood's effects, as you have undoubtedly experienced, there is, as I've said, more to it than that." Eric explains with great reluctance, finally backing away from me, his expression shuttered and calculating, "Once a human has ingested a vampire's blood, the vampire can than sense that human from that point on. He can find her where ever she is, even sense if she is in danger or afraid." I can't help it if I'm staring at him with bug eyes, my heart plunking down into my gut.

"So your blood is like vampire GPS?" I ask incredulously. Eric coughs into his chest, smothering the smile twitching across his lips. "That's just great, I've been low jacked by Bill Compton, and I suppose you were planning on telling me this when...?"

Eric's features go unexpectedly somber as he graces me with a eerie expression that I recognize from that first night at the club, all menace and vampire supremacy, "It is not common for vampires to share this information with their pets."

"I am nobody's pet," I point out in my surliest voice, "Let's get that straight right now. Also, I don't really like the idea of being kept track of by any vampire, let's just say it's not on my to-do list. Speaking of which, does this tracking effect happen to wear off at any point?" Eric's taciturn expression seems to indicate it is slightly more permanent than I would like it to be. "Great, just great." I toss a scowl at him that is meant to let him see exactly how upsetting I find this news.

"Also," Eric begins.

"There's more?" I put my face into my hands and groan, "Vampires should come with how-to manuals, or maybe warning labels, why hasn't anyone bothered to write one of those how-to books on ya'all?" I could really use a Vampires for Dummies right now. "How come this stuff isn't on the news or one of those information pamphlets the vampire rights people are always passing out?" Seriously, people have a right to know what they're getting into when a vampire offers them their blood, heck, _I _had a right to know, but nobody saw fit to inform me.

"As I said, we vampires don't wish for the rejuvenating qualities of our blood to become common knowledge, it's very important that you don't go around sharing this information with just anyone," Eric cautions me gravely, and by gravely, I mean to say his words imply that I should be as silent as the grave on this issue, or else. After assessing that I seem to comprehend the underlying threat in his tone, which couldn't have been more obvious than if he'd come right out and said it to my face like a normal person, he continues.

"I understand that your good friend Bill told you that vampire blood increases the libido?" I nod in reluctant agreement, "What Compton failed to mention is that it causes the human who drank the blood to experience extreme lust specifically for the vampire who gave it to them." Eric's bright blue eyes seem to burn as he stares down at me through a frame of pale blond hair, "They desire the vampire donor with a intensity that is nearly irresistible," he emphasizes the last word pointedly, and I feel my throat work to swallow hard as I'm being stared at with such blatant sexual intentions. How does he do that? Take me from pissed to panting before I can catch my breath, let alone my thoughts? Oh Lord, I'm in trouble, and I know it.

You see, where I come from guys don't exactly jump up to get into my pants. Partly because I couldn't stand to have them touch me, even if they wanted to, and partly because the majority of people in Bon Temps, Louisiana think I'm either crazy or psychic, which I'm not. Of course, when you get down to it, being a telepath isn't necessarily any better than what they call me, so why bother arguing? All in all, I'm certainly not used to someone like Eric flirting with me, but I'm nearly certain we have two very different ideas about what a sexual relationship should be. As in, he's probably just thinking about the sex, and I'm the sort of girl who needs a relationship first. To be plain, I just don't see it working out between us, no matter how edible he looks.

"That's not true," I blurt out, surprising him. One of his blond eyebrows arches upwards in cynical assessment, like he's trying to suss me out. "I mean, I didn't find Bill irresistible, so it's not like it's a sure thing." His eyebrow hitches even higher, a smirk curving his wicked mouth as his eyes rake me hungrily.

"One can never be held at fault for having good taste," He agrees in a appreciative murmur. Oops, I think my pointing out that I didn't jump Bill just because of a little blood exchange is having the opposite effect of what I intended. He seems even more interested in getting me naked now than he was five seconds ago, and although I'm not too familiar with guys coming after me, I am familiar with the expressions they wear when they're thinking dirty thoughts and enjoying them thoroughly. Like Eric is now.

"What I mean to say is, _if_ I decide to drink some of your blood, and I'm not saying I will, it doesn't necessarily mean I intend to, you know... with you- that is..." I can't help the cliché virginal blush burning on my cheeks, my skin feels so hot it's like there's a fire in my blood, sizzling me from the inside out as I fight to suppress both the mortification I feel about stating something so bluntly, while at the same time I'm fighting the involuntary desire I feel towards the inhumanly gorgeous vampire standing so close to me. Eric, on the other hand, seems to be drinking in my embarrassment like he's feeding off of it, his smirk deepening with every word I stutter.

"I don't expect you to fuck me just because I let you drink my blood," trust Eric to put it as bluntly as possible. He peers at me in a lazy, self assured way, a confident grin on his lips, "There are plenty of better reasons for you to come to my bed, and I intend to show you every single one of them."

"Oh Jesus," I give a wary look that travels from his freshly polished black boots, to his dark denim jeans that show off the cut of his powerful calves and thighs, up to the dark green t-shirt that clings to his sculpted chest like a second skin, until I meet his clear sky blue eyes, shadowed by mockery and cynicism, "You are so the type of man my Gran warned me about." Maybe the defeat shows in my expression because his toothy smile is both sizzling and enticing.

"You can't bully me into this," I warn him, holding up my right hand in emphasis, as if to ward him off, which we both know is physically impossible for me to accomplish, "I'm still not very comfortable with either of you knowing my whereabouts at all times, let alone when I'm feeling scared or hurt."

"It it alright for me to assume by your warning, that you intend to take me up on my offer?" He questions, his fangs snapping down, "After all, I think it would be a true shame if Bill Compton was the only vampire who knew where you were, and if you were in any pain, don't you?"

"Personally," I inform him, "My good sense is screaming I'd be better off without both of you knowing anything personal about me, but I guess it's too late for that."

"Then that is something I shall endeavor to change, because I intend to be very personal with you, Sookie." I can't help but shiver at the way he says my name, even if his arrogance is nerve grating. As if he assumes he can do whatever he pleases, and in return, change my mind around to his line of thinking without so much as a 'what do you think about this Sookie?' thrown in for good measure. Not to mention the fact that he is far too aware of how handsome he is, and that always leads to trouble.

"Are you done stalling?" He asks in a too polite way.

"Not quite," I let out a long winded sigh, half of me still not believing what I'm actually considering agreeing to, but Eric has a point, Bill has already given me his blood, and judging by the events that transpired earlier this evening, I can count on him to likely try and use such a thing to his advantage in the near future. Even though I know logically that I've already put my faith in the vampire standing right in front of me once tonight, without any reassurances, I still can't just go blindly and willingly jumping myself from the frying pan to the fire without getting some sort of sense as to where, exactly, that puts me.

"Sookie," he's chiding me, I can tell.

"Eric," I mimic, echoing his tone, and I swear he rolls his eyes at me.

"I thought you were brave." One of those blond eyebrows raises upward, punctuating his pushy taunt, and I force myself to be the civil one and not lower myself to his childish level, no matter how tempting it might be to sink right down there and tell him what I think of his manners, or lack thereof.

"Brave, not stupid," I remind him with a frown, recalling that he said just last night that I could pass for either. "I just need a moment to think straight," I sigh at his put out expression, "You'd think that living for so long would teach a person more patience." I add, tsking him. His grin is slow and predatory.

"You make me impatient," he accuses, rather unfairly I might add, "You, Sookie," his pale blue eyes sear into me, pinning my eyes to his like a stick pin through a butterfly, "One night of our acquaintance and you've already broken vampire protocol, fought a vampire who is easily five times your age, and made a enemy of a vampire whose blood you've drank, and you wonder why I want to be able to sense you at every moment?" His lips curve into a wryly depreciating smirk, "I could argue that refusing me now might be the stupidest thing you could do."

"Okay, fine," I relent under the truth of it all. I'm in danger, plain as day, and so far the only one willing to play Superman to my Louis Lane is Eric Northman, even if he does look like he'd better suite the roll of a sexy blond Lex Luther at first glance. I suppose when you're knee deep in shit creek, your options tend to narrow as mine have now. "I'm ready as I'll ever be I guess," I stare up at him, trying to see any form of deceit or malicious triumph in his gaze, but he's back to being disturbingly distant and unreadable.

In a single snapping motion he rips into the skin of his wrist, causing me to wince on his behalf, immortal and quick to heal or not, taking a chunk out of your own skin can't be a pleasant sensation. His eyes glitter like the devil himself as he holds out the bloody appendage, and I make a face at him, because dripping wounds aren't exactly as appetizing to me as they are to him. You'd think drinking blood would be really gross, and in the sheer logical side of it, I guess it is, vampire blood or not, but when it comes down to how it makes you feel, the metallic sweet taste, the heady rush, the tingle of exhilaration and strength rushing through your veins, drinking his blood is as attractively seductive as the vampire offering it to me. Gran says if bad wasn't attractive, it wouldn't get such a hold on so many people, I think I'm starting to see what she means by that.

It's ten different kinds of odd to feel the shards of glass push their way out from inside my back, falling harmlessly to the floor in a rain of glittering brown glass, some of the pieces are larger than others, some of them are so small they are almost invisible to the naked eye. I can even feel the deeper gouges where the glass cut me filling themselves in, my skin reforming itself like it did the last time I drank vampire blood. Thankfully, it's no longer like my back is both itching and burning at the same time, which is an improvement to say the least. Eventually I feel like I can breathe normally again without wincing in pain. My fatigue vanishes too, flying away like a bad dream, as each suck of wet, hot fluid runs down my throat with each greedy swallow I pull from his veins. I think I moan in the back of my throat at the intoxicating taste and feel of it, the heady sensation of Eric's life force flooding through my veins, soaking into my flesh and nerves, I don't mean to, it just feels so good, so wonderful, that the sound of my enjoyment just sort of slips out from the back of my throat in a thready groan I know I don't have a prayer of him not hearing.

Drinking Eric's blood is like drinking a icy pitcher of fresh homemade lemonade on a boiling hot summer day, or that first cup of strong, hot coffee in the morning that clears away the cobwebs, but better, so much better. It invades my senses, makes me reel and spin into a fathomless pool of sensation as I let the empowering effects take over, the sucking of my mouth growing more greedy with each gulp of hot, coppery liquid that flows down my throat.

"Easy," Eric cautions with a knowing chuckle, pulling my fingers out of the death grip they have on his wrist. I didn't even notice I was cradling his arm to me until he plucks my fingers from his skin one by one, before pulling his mostly healed wrist away from my lips. I fight a instinctive wash of shame and unease when I realize that he had to resort to literally prying me off him to get me to stop. I'm not really sure why drinking vampire blood has the same effect on me as eating a whole box of chocolates in one sitting, triggering a instinctively insatiable desire to never stop, only much more powerful, but it does. Surely that isn't normal.

I wipe my mouth, and the back of my hand comes back with a crimson stain of his blood, a stunning scarlet against my pale gold skin. I wipe the smear of vibrant blood onto my already ruined work uniform without much thought. A part of me wants to lick it off my skin with my tongue, like you would lick a Hershey's wrapper when the chocolate melts inside it, but I think I've embarrassed myself in front of Eric enough for one night without having him watch me lick his blood off me like it's liquid candy. To think, before I met Bill I was pretty certain I was a good girl, wholesome and level headed, but seeing what the last week or so has reduced me to, I'm not so sure anymore. Good girls don't drink vampire blood, or smash liquor bottles over people's heads, they don't go to vampire clubs, and they certainly don't involve themselves with people like Eric Northman. So maybe I'm not such a good girl after all.

"Are you feeling better?" Eric asks me, his smirk telling me he's well aware of how much better I'm feeling. Healed, yes, but also vibrantly, beautifully alive, there's a fire in my lower belly set on low burn, and just staring at Eric seems to be fueling it into a inferno. It's just the effects of the vampire blood, I tell myself, but my sex drive doesn't seem to give a hoot about the why and how, it's too busy doing cartwheels and back flips.

"Just how many of my feelings can you sense, exactly?" I ask him suspiciously after suddenly realizing that he only mentioned the fear and in mortal peril parts of the side effects of drinking his blood. However, it now occurs to me that he might have been implying he would be able to sense _all_ my feelings, which would include even the most personal ones, like, for instance, arousal. His predatory smirk confirms what I've already guessed.

"Do you feel well enough to accompany me to Fangtasia? I have some business to attend there before sun rise." I don't bother pointing out he's avoided another one of my questions, at this point I'm almost used to being ignored when it suites him.

"I can't go there looking like this," I point out, "Besides, I should get home, I'm sure my Gran's worried about me." Eric's stare is speculative, considering, as he runs his gaze up and down my figure, making me feel sort of shivery and exposed by the nearly physical penetration of his stare.

"You can call your Gran to let her know you're safe," he commands, back to being the vampire tyrant, "I believe Pam should have something suitable for you to borrow upstairs, as well."

"In other words, you are determined to drag me along with you?" I clarify, a stubborn frown on my mouth. "You can't just order me around Mr. Northman, I'm a free human being, and if I want to go home, there's nothing you can do to stop me." He gives me a look that implies I'm a idiot for thinking so.

"I thought we'd agreed that you would call me Eric," his finger tucks under my chin, forcing me to meet his harsh, wintery stare. "I can do many things to stop you, Sookie, but I find myself reluctant to carry through with any of them where you're involved. We had a agreement, you and I, that you would meet me at the club tonight, and while I understand the delay wasn't your fault, a deal is a deal. Now, you can call your grandmother, and change clothes before we leave, or I can drag you through Fangtasia half naked and stained with blood, which would you prefer?"

"You are so not charming," I huff at him in exasperation. "Fine, you win again. Which way is Pam's room?"

"Is she wearing my clothes?" Pam's southern drawl is tight with irritation as Eric and I meet her at the front door of Fangtasia.

"Not now Pam," Eric scolds. The taller woman peers down at me menacingly.

"One scuff on those shoes, and I'll take it out of your skin, breather," she threatens idly, but her stare seems to imply she's dead serious, no pun intended. Eric clears his throat meaningfully at her side and she turns to him with her cat and canary smile, "A girl's wardrobe is sacred Eric, how many times do I have to tell you this?" She and he exchange a long look that seems to be some form of silent communication between them, and Pam eventually lets out a short exhale of frustration before her heavily made up eyes travel back to me with extreme reluctance, "I suppose you don't look entirely awful, although you smell like a human bar. I hope you intend to wash that outfit before returning it."

"It's nice to see you again too, Pam," I reply with sugary sweetness. Her lips quirk before she turns back to her maker in a brisk manner.

"Longshadow's got the bar tonight, and Ginger's on staff, but two of the dancer's called off, which has been a real pain in my ass. You know how much I hate running this shit hole," her words are wry, and comfortable in spite of her complaints. Putting their snarky attitudes aside, anyone with eyes can see there's a affection between the vampire maker and his child, a slightly insecure part of me can't help but wonder how much affection, exactly, there really is. "Oh, and that 'issue' still hasn't been resolved, although I called the accountant in for a meeting, as you requested."

By the time we enter the main part of Fangtasia, my head's too filled with other people's thoughts for me to listen as well as I probably should to what Eric and Pam are saying to one another, their words are drowned out by the sudden surge of extra noise. Just like the night before, most of what I'm picking up is about sex, blood, and fetishes that involve both, and then there are the thoughts filled with some things I seriously never wanted to know about the pleather dressed inhabitants dancing and drinking inside the bar. It's the same type of crowd as yesterday, with their spiked dog collars and skin tight clothing, the occasional regular looking person thrown into the mix just to keep it interesting. In the ridiculous atmosphere it's the normal people who stand out the most. No wonder Bill called me and my tiny little sun dress from the night before 'vampire bait'. In here, anything ordinary is eye catching.

Of course, right now I'm wearing a fishnet top and a tight black skirt that comes down to just above my knees, as they were the only items in Pam's closet that actually fit me, so tonight I look like I fit in here, which isn't nearly as comforting as you might expect it to be, not in this place anyway.

_Just fuck me already. Suck my blood and fuck me, I can't stand another minute of waiting, just get it over with. I want you now._

I turn away in disgust from the young looking boy with heavy eye make-up who's broadcasting his mute pleas at his female vampire companion, his thoughts are sharp, like needles, and desperate. As I open myself up further to the din of mental chatter filling the room, I catch a few snip bits of visual desires from the occupants, a slurred inner voice of a woman at the bar drowning her sorrow in tequila sunrises and bemoaning the loss of her youth, and then I hear something that makes my blood run cold. A man's mental voice, jittery with fear, his thoughts are churning as he mindlessly goes through the motions of dancing.

_Shit, I need back-up in here, they were supposed to show up twenty minutes ago, what's taking them so damn long?_

I tense, narrowing in on the navy cap of the man thinking this, and my eyes flash to Eric, who is now staring at me expectantly, perhaps in my distraction I missed a pivotal point of the conversation, but that doesn't really matter to me at the moment. Right now all I'm thinking is that a bunch of cops are about to burst into a vampire bar, and that's a situation that could get ugly, fast. Followed quickly by the thought that it's not fair that I always seem to walk right into these sort of messes, head first.

"There's about to be a police raid inside your bar," my statement draws both Eric and Pam's full attention in a very disturbing way.

"How do you know this?" Eric demands suspiciously. Oh, right, I haven't exactly mentioned to either of them that I can read people's minds yet. I bite my lip.

"Because there's a cop in here who's thinking about it," I gasp, allowing my abilities to run around free range might be part of my promise to Gran, but it sure is one hell of a pain in the petunia when it wants to be. I can see a image of a female vampire with a bob cut of glossy brown hair licking the blood from a man's neck, before her fangs spring free and she bites down on him again. I jerk myself away from the thought process, alarmed and slightly unnerved, "There's also a vampire feeding on some man in the back room."

Eric's head jerks up, and he looks towards the back of the room, only to turn back to me swiftly, his fierce grip suddenly on my upper arm, fingers digging into my skin and muscle, "Is there something you perhaps forgot to mention to me?" He asks me in a deceptively calm tone of voice, but he's already pulling me towards a side door behind the bar without waiting for an answer, Pam hot on our heels, a sense of urgency in their actions that has me on guard.

"Umm..." I wince as he drags me through the door a little more roughly than I would like, my eyes narrowing at the rough treatment, "I'm sort of telepathic, I mean, I can hear people's thoughts. I don't know why or how, I've always just been able to." I explain, feeling about two inches tall as he glares down at me with those searing blue eyes.

"My, isn't she just full of surprises," Pam muses caustically. Her long nails, painted a dark purple tonight, clack against a keypad on the side of the wall, and with a nearly silent click a secret panel slips open, revealing a hidden door. "I'm sure it's not as quaint and cozy as your used to," the female vampire informs me, "but it'll have to do." She gestures for me to go in first, and after a moment's hesitation, I do, feeling uneasy as I navigate the dimly lit stairwell with two vampires at my back. At least they didn't just swing the door closed behind me and lock me in, as I half expected them to.

The narrow passage is composed of a set of tiny stairs that leads down two levels to what must be the basement of the building. The air is slightly damp against my skin, but cool, like most underground places, there's a stagnant air about the space, as if it's seldom used. The room itself is sparsely decorated, just a few brown leather couches, a TV on a simple black stand with a stereo system and PS3 hooked up to it, and a refrigerator standing in the far corner, it looks more like a bunker than anything else. Two doors lead off the small room, but they're shut, and one of them has a keypad on the wall next to it like the one Pam used to open the hidden door. I stand there awkwardly for a moment, absorbing the surroundings, before a take a seat on the larger of the two couches. Pam sits down on the love seat, looking unnaturally stiff, but Eric chooses to remain standing, staring down at me with a impassive expression that makes me want to fidget like a little kid stuck in detention.

"Since we will likely be here for a while, would you care to explain how it is you knew what was about to happen in my bar?" Eric suggests. I give him a sour look.

"I told you, I can hear people's thoughts," I shift uncomfortably. Admitting what I'm capable of always makes me feel like a freak of nature, it's so ingrained in me to expect people's revulsion or uneasiness when I admit what it is I can do, but it's not like it was something I chose. It just happened to me, I was born with it and I can't help the fact that unsettles people, or that they don't like it. I don't especially enjoy it myself.

"Really?" Pam drawls, disbelief in her expression. Or at least I think it's disbelief, with Pam it's hard to tell. "Then what am I thinking, right now?"

"It doesn't work on vampires," I tell her in exasperation, "just on humans."

"How convenient," Pam murmurs, and I don't know from her sarcastic turn of phrase if she's talking about convenient for me, or for her. "Are there any other little talents you'd like to tell us about? Something else you forgot to mention perhaps?"

"No," I clasp my fingers together tightly, "I've been able to hear people's thoughts my whole life, but I just found out that vampire glamor doesn't work on me just recently and that's the God's honest truth." For a moment, silence fills the room, free of any overheard thoughts or sounds of any sort. The thing about vampires is that they're really good at being quiet when they want to be. I revel in the quiet, at the sheer fact that I can actually sit in a room with two other people and not spend every second stomping down their unwanted thoughts so that I can pretend to be normal.

I instinctively freeze as I find myself suddenly pinned to the couch without warning, Eric has pounced with his vampire speed, leaving me little time between blinking and suddenly having his hand fisted in my hair, bending my head at a awkward angle, his face leaning over mine. We're pressed so close together I can smell the slight taint of blood on his cool breath, see the flecks of white and blue individually in his haunting eyes. Eyes that are as hard as stones, almost furious in their intensity, and I feel my throat work its way around a dry swallow as he growls down at me, a low, vibrating noise in the back of his throat. Oh, he's angry, I can tell.

"Owe," I tell him pointedly, refusing to cower because of his display of brute force. Especially since I know he's doing it just to scare me, but as it turns out I'm a little harder to intimidate than most of the humans he probably associates with. Besides, even though he's playing the part of big, scary vampire, I'm almost certain he won't hurt me. Almost.

"What are you?"

"Oh for Pete's sake, not this again." I roll my eyes at him, "I'm Sookie Stackhouse, I'm a waitress, born and raised in Bon Temps, Louisiana, alright?"

"Waitresses aren't immune to glamor, and normal humans can't hear other people's thoughts," Eric points out in cold logic. I hide the hurt at the distinction that I'm not a 'normal human'.

"Like you're one to talk about being normal," I point out defensively, "Look, if I knew how I did it, I'd tell you, heck, I'd love to know myself, but the fact is, I don't." I let out a small sigh of relief as he releases the fist full of hair he was holding me by, all the better to expose my neck I guess, and lets me sink back into the couch, but his arms are still pinned on either side of me, blocking me in as he glowers down at me with a cool expression.

"When were you planning on telling me you were telepathic?" He asks, his voice is even and deceptively amiable, but that only lets me know how angry he really is. When Eric is actually even-tempered he sounds mocking, or seductive, or just plain bored, but when he's angry, he shrouds himself in this lethal sort of calm that's more unnerving then if he yelled and hollered at me like Jason does when he's in one of his rages.

"Are you really lecturing _me_ on withholding information?" I ask him with pointed emphasis, "If that isn't the definition of the pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but it's not something I exactly blurt out to perfect strangers, so excuse me for not just unloading all my personal business on y'all right away."

"You are infuriatingly independent," he tells me, as if I should be sorry for it.

"And you're a domineering jerk with fangs," I retort, crossing my arms and glaring up at him, "and a bully to boot."  
His lips twitch, and I realize I've said or done something he finds amusing, although Lord only knows what exactly.

"You look delectable in fishnet," he purrs, staring at my breasts, which are sort of popped up due to my crossed arms, the black piece of material built into the meshed top barely covers them. I feel a faint blush on my cheeks as I force myself to keep glaring at him. Stupid Pam, and her stupid revealing clothes.

"Flirting is not an apology," I point out in annoyance. Eric smirks and in a instant he's sitting beside me, his large arm wrapped around my shoulders in a possessive way. I give him a dissatisfied look, trying to shrug off his arm to no avail. "Besides, I think I look ridiculous in this get up."

"You do," Pam assures me, smirking at me from across the room as I belatedly remember she's still there with us. Just being around Eric has a way of making all the sense fly out of me.

"Pam, be nice," Eric tells her. She pouts, jutting out her lower lip which is painted a shocking fuchsia color.

"I don't do nice," she informs him wryly, staring at her long nails in boredom, "Speaking of nice, those _nice_ police officers should be done in a hour or so, do you want me to call Longshadow and see how much damage they've caused already?"

"No, wait until they've cleared the bar before you contact him, and make sure our guest is still here when they've finished. I'm still very interested in resolving that matter with our accounts," Eric orders, he wears his authority like he was born into it. Maybe he was. He peers at me from the corner of his eyes speculatively, and I fight the urge to squirm under the inspection, "Perhaps our Miss Stackhouse will be able to shed some light on the matter."

"It's always nice to see a breather making themselves useful," Pam agrees. I want to stick my tongue out at her, but knowing Pam, she'd probably just get a kick out of it.

"What's in it for me?" I don't know who my question shocks more, myself, or the two vampires in the room. Pam's wearing her catty smirk, her painstakingly plucked eyebrows arching in incredulous amusement. Eric, well, I can feel him staring at me, so close that my skin tingles with it, but I can't bring myself to look and see what his reaction is to my demand. Suddenly, the quiet I was just relishing seems suffocating, and words start spilling out of me faster than Tara when she's on one of her rants.

"I mean, y'all seem to expect me to just do whatever you say, but when I want something, even a answer to a simple question, there's always a catch," I can feel Eric's arm tightening around me fractionally, "I don't like poking around in people's heads, it's not my idea of fun despite whatever you might think. I wouldn't even have been listening in the bar tonight if I wasn't trying my hardest to find out something about those poor women that will help me clear my brother's name. So I think it's only fair you offer me something in return," I finally look at Eric, only to find him as blanked faced as ever, his thoughts hidden behind a stoic expression that tells me nothing.

"What is it you want, money?" Eric asks me, his voice cool as a cucumber. My brows furrow as I try and figure out what's upset him this time. "Blood, sex...?" At the last his lips curl upward slightly, but there's something in his eyes that keeps it from being a genuine smile.

"How about some answers? Like why Bill was trying to kidnap me, or who this Queen person is, and what the hell she's got to do with me," I peer at him searchingly, "Money's the least of my worries at the moment. I'd much rather know what's going on, considering it looks like I'm already knee deep in this mess and I don't understand one cotton picking thing about it."

"No."

"NO?" I repeat, my eyes going a little wide, "What do you mean no?"

"I mean, I'm not at the liberty to give you what you want," Eric's lips slip into a rueful expression, "Which is a first for me where a human is concerned, I will admit. However, I can give you something you might desire even more than a explanation."

"Oh really?" I ask skeptically, half pouting at his instant denial and half expecting him to bring up sex again as payment.

"I will find the person murdering women in your town, and clear your brother's name of all wrongdoing," he states flippantly, as if doing so is no big deal to him. "Will that suffice as payment?"

"Just like that?" I ask in disbelief. He gives me a look of dark amusement.

"Sookie, as Sheriff of Shreveport, Louisiana it is my duty to locate those of my kind who have broken our laws, and punish them accordingly. Are you suggesting that one measly human will really present a challenge to me?" He questions in a scoffing manner, a caustic smugness about him. My eyes narrow at him calculatingly.

"And when you find this person, you'll turn him over to authorities, right?" I ask pointedly.

"If that's what you wish," he agrees, a little more reluctantly this time. I think it's probably a good thing I thought to specify.

"You were planning on eating him, weren't you?" I accuse, a little indignant that life and death seem so cavalier to the man before me. Eric give me a flat look, retracting him arm from around my shoulders as he stands.

"I'm a vampire," he tells me seriously, suddenly aloof, "I won't apologize for my nature, and unlike your _dear _Bill I have no serious desire to mainstream entirely. I do what I must to uphold the Authority of my people, and protect our public image during this pivotal time, but make no mistake, I am not human. I don't intend to pretend to be. So if that's what you're looking for, you better look elsewhere."

"Yes, well, first of all, I'm human," I retort, scowling up at him, "So excuse me for getting squeamish about you talking about murdering someone like it's common place, especially since if you did, it'd be on me for asking for your help. Second of all, stop calling him my 'dear Bill', he's not 'my' anything, and since he tried to kidnap me tonight I definitely don't consider him 'dear' to me." He stares down at me for a brief moment, as if digesting what I said, before turning to the other vampire in the room briskly.

"Pam, please ensure Miss Stackhouse is comfortable while I attend to matters upstairs. Keep her entertained, and when I call you, have her brought upstairs for the interrogation," Eric orders, and Pam nods at him without question.

"Interrogation?" I ask, suddenly worried about what it is that I've agreed to. Eric ignores me.

"Also, please find out who was stupid enough to feed in my club without going through the proper channels," he adds, "I would like to have a word with them as well."

"Of course, Eric. Anything else?" Pam asks in a subservient way that shows me she's used to this side of Eric.

"No," he turns to me then, finally looking at me, our eyes hold and meet for a brief moment, "Stay."

"What am I, a dog?" I demand hotly, but he's already gone, having used his vampire speed to vanish the moment the word was out of his mouth. "What the hell is wrong with him?" I ask Pam, but her level look is all sorts of mean.

"You shouldn't talk to him like that," she tells me in her caustic southern drawl.

"Like what?" I ask, affronted. As far as I can tell I didn't do anything wrong, just hours before we were standing in his kitchen, flirting, and now he's gone back to acting as coldly toward me as a walking ice cube with fangs.

"Like you're equals," Pam's eyes are mutely judging me, sizing me up, "You're just a child to him, barely that, and yet you seem to think you have some authority over what he chooses to do. You should consider yourself lucky, the last human I saw make that mistake didn't live long enough to regret it." She sits up slightly, looking intimidating in her skin tight dark purple shirt and shiny leather pants, skull earrings dangle from her earlobes, a spiked collar rings her throat, I wonder if this is Pam's choice of attire or just what she's expected to wear at Fangtasia, judging by her closet it's probably a little of both. "Don't get me wrong, he seems to like that you're a feisty for a breather, and your immunity to glamour has probably peaked his interest quite a bit, but Eric's been a vampire so long he hardly remembers what being human feels like."

"How old is he?" I question curiously. Bill never really told me.

"That's something you'll have to ask him yourself," Pam informs me, his lips thinning to a stern line.

"Alright, how old are you then?"

"It's never polite to ask a woman her age," her smirk is cutting, "But since my maker seems to desire you, I suppose I should make a effort to bond, or whatever it is you humans do. I'm one hundred and fifty seven years old, but I look twenty-seven, and that's what counts," she informs me with a catty curl of her lips. I know I'm gaping at her like a dumb struck idiot, but I can't help myself.

"That old?" I ask in a choked tone. Pam gives me a superior look.

"Compared to Eric," she informs me with a knowing smile, "I'm still just a baby."

Well, that's certainly some food for thought.

A/N: Oh, there's more, I'm already writing it, and Eric willing, the next chapter will be smutty, because…Well, because I like smutty Eric, but then again, honestly, who _doesn't_? ^-^


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